Jaywalking
by Vexel
Summary: Jaywalking: (intransitive) to cross a street at a place other than a regulated crossing or in a heedless and reckless manner. "The creature fell on top of him and latched onto Danny's clavicle, its rotten teeth forcing their way through his flesh like a blunt, rusted knife. He screamed."
1. Walk

**Chapter 1: Walk**

Jaywalking: _(intransitive) to cross a street at a place other than a regulated crossing or in a heedless and reckless manner._

…

The Humvee hit another pot-hole.

"Ouch!" Danny hissed, raising his hands to rub the back of his head.

The handcuffs bound to his wrists rattled and the soldier opposite shifted the grip on his gun with a wary glance. Danny huffed and slumped back against the wall of the truck, grouchily staring out the window at the highway. Abando ned cars and bikes littered the road, causing the Humvee to take another sharp turn to avoid a broken-down semi and nearly sending him tumbling from his seat.

He didn't know how long he'd been travelling, but he knew he wasn't anywhere near Arkansas anymore. The tinted bullet-proof windows made it difficult to see the sun – not that he ever learned to tell the time by it anyway. The few occasions he had gone camping with his friends they had been the ones to keep track of the hour; Tucker with his ever-ready GPS and Sam somehow just knew how to build a sundial out of sticks and rocks.

He missed them.

…

Danny and his family had been visiting Maddie's estranged sister when the outbreak first hit; Aunt Alicia lived in a small, isolated province up in the mountains of Arkansas with a population total of eight. It only took one maltreated case of gangrene for the community to be overrun. At first his parents had been excited at the prospect of the flesh-feasters – they thought that they had finally discovered ghosts with their bloodshot eyes and lacking pain receptors. That was until one of them bit Aunt Alicia.

Jack, Maddie, Jazz and Danny had fled when their Aunt had turned on them, but as the shortest in his family Danny was quick to lose them in the woods. He searched for them for hours, trundling through the sharp brambles and thistles that tried to slow him down, screaming their names until he was hoarse. He was desperate to find the narrow dirt trail that lead to the four-hour drive back to Little Rock.

But there was nothing.

By the time he had made it off the mountain range it was long past nightfall. Sleep was impossible that night; every time the bush rustled or a bow creaked Danny would snap awake; desperately searching the blackness with blind eyes. The winds had been cold and harsh and Danny had never felt more terrified.

It felt like years before the sun breached the horizon and daylight finally banished the darkness away. Exhausted, Danny dragged himself to his feet from his bed of leaves and twigs; the green of the trees enveloped him like a boa constrictor threatening to squeeze. He was confused, frustrated, tired, thirsty and hungry — he hadn't seen the sun for hours with the canopy so thick. Branches and thorns grappled at his clothes and rocks threatened to slip out from underneath if he didn't watch his every step. The hunger and thirst had begun to set in — the constant ache at the back of his throat was torn anew each time he took a breath of the dry, hot Arkansas air and his stomach had begun to mimic the war-cry of a mountain lion.

He guessed nearly half a day had passed before he reached the fringe of the forest, sunlight pierced through the treetops like angel beckons and Danny couldn't help but smile. Fortified, he leapt and bound his way to the forest's edge and was greeted with a cheerful sign, proudly stating that he had reached the small town of Marianna, population 3,468.

But that was the only thing cheerful about the town.

It was deserted. Mini-vans still fitted with booster seats were scattered along the main street, windows of whimsical boutiques were smashed in, graffiti soaked the walls with messages to loved one with warnings, cautions and apologies and the traffic lights looked like they hadn't been in operation for weeks.

The local grocery's doors were unlocked and, in Danny's desperate craving for food, he ignored the terse voice in the back of his mind and hurried inside. There was nobody at the cashier station and the lights were switched off, washing the store in a stormy Sunday grey. Most of the shelves were barren, displays knocked over by what looked like a frenzy, but he was able to scrounge up a crushed box of granola bars forgotten beneath a promotional booth; Danny happily shoved a whole bar into his mouth and stuffed another two into the back pockets of his jeans, swiping a quarter-filled bottle of water from the aisle over and draining it in seconds.

Scarfing down a whole family-sized block of chocolate he found by the fruits section, Danny meandered his way toward the frozen desserts aisle. The refrigerators were broken and the ice cream had turned to lukewarm sludge, but Danny had happily eaten a whole tub of strawberry sorbet before investigating the rest of the store. With his stomach free of aches and pains and his sore throat soothed, he couldn't help but feel invigorated.

There was a phone in the middle of the bread aisle, abandoned. He quickly swiped it up off the floor only to be thoroughly disappointed to find it on only six percent battery with no signal. Guiltily, he pocketed the pink cell and went in search of whatever remained on the shelves.

He was walking past the stock rooms when he heard the groan.

Gnawing his lip, he nervously called out, "H–hello?"

Another soft moan answered him. Worried that somebody was hurt, Danny placed his shopping basket filled with cans on the ground next to him and shoved heavily past the industrial swinging doors, his muscles straining with the effort to move the awkward plastic fitting.

The room was dark and musty, tall scaffolding contained hundreds of boxes of unopened produce almost completely untouched by the rest of the store-goers. He slowly stepped his way into the room, the hairs on the back of his neck sticking up on end.

There was a squeaking sound and Danny whirled on the spot, heart in his throat, only to discover a rat. It gave a tremulous hiss before diving out of sight behind one of the cartons. he heaved a sigh, only to jump at the sound of another pained groan.

' _Right, Fenton,'_ Danny told himself, trying to ignore his jittering nerves, _'You've got this.'_

Skulking further in, Danny crept past a pyramid of paper towels. It was dark – too dark. The cell he had been saving for an emergency call was instead being used as a replacement flashlight. Opening the screensaver, Danny was presented with a picture of a pretty teenager a little older than him with her boyfriend, judging by the arm wrapped around the girl's waist.

Another moan echoed through the room, followed shortly by the sound of something being dragged across the floor. Danny felt his breath hitch and squinted into the dark. His own heartbeat filled his ears, making it difficult to tell which direction the groaning was coming from.

"Is somebody there? Are you okay?"

And then she was there, the same girl from the picture, dressed in a checkout uniform with a nametag labelled 'Savannah'. Her eyes were dull and glazed in their stretched sockets and mottled, scabbed skin formed from a gaping wound in her cheek; the blackened flesh was hanging from her face by only a few fibres of sinew. He could see bone.

Danny yelled, stumbling back with fright, the phone shaking violently in his hand. The girl limped unflinchingly toward him, her right foot dragging behind her from where it had dislocated at the ankle with arms outstretched.

"S–stay back!" Danny squeaked, the phone flashed in warning at one percent.

'Savannah' didn't seem to hear him. She didn't seem to need to breathe, she only moaned and clicked her blackened teeth at him hungrily. He raced back to the paper towels, hefting a roll and tossing it at the girl's head before he restocked. The rolls bounced off her head, but didn't slow her down as she edged ever closer. Danny stumbled back toward the weighted doors, glancing down at the phone as it gave out a happy jingle, the screen displaying a farewell message before falling black, casting him in complete darkness.

He didn't have time to consider the irony of returning stolen property before he flung the dead electronic in Savannah's direction – the dull thud announcing he made contact and he bolted toward the doors.

The force he hit the weighted doors with sent him sprawling to the floor, knocking the air out of him. The panels swung softly on their axis before falling shut. Danny, panting, slowly sat up, chuckling weakly as the growls from the stockroom grew more and more angry, but nothing ventured through.

Standing on shaking legs, he gave a final huff in satisfaction and turned to collect his basket, only to be met with the corpse-like face of Savannah's boyfriend. Danny shrieked as the boy lunged at him, sending him tumbling back onto the floor, phalanges grappling to tear through his clothes and teeth snapping just millimetres away from his nose. The stench of rotting meat filled Danny's olfactory senses, making him gag as he shoved an elbow under the boyfriend's chin, taking the full weight of the struggling body above him. The sugar that had fuelled his body was quickly wearing off, the adrenaline running out to make way for exhaustion – everything seemed to be moving too quickly for his sluggish body to keep up. The creature was relentless; Danny's shirt tore like wet paper as fingers worn down to the sharpened bone tried desperately to latch onto his skin.

But then the boyfriend shifted and clipped Danny's elbow, sending him off kilter and making his elbow smack painfully against the vinyl flooring. The creature fell on top of him and latched onto Danny's clavicle, his rotten teeth forcing their way through Danny's flesh like a blunt rusty knife and Danny shrieked in agony. It was the worst feeling he had ever felt – worse even than being electrocuted just those few weeks ago by his parent's makeshift ghost portal.

The blood spurted from the bite as the boyfriend dug his teeth in further, mouth latching over bone. Danny weakly tried to beat at the thing's head with a closed fist, but the lack of blood mixed with his exhaustion was making him too weak to do anything but lie there as this… _monster_ ate him alive.

Green flickered past his pain-filled eyelids and, like a strike of lightning, a bolt of energy suddenly rushed through him. Danny gasped for air like he had been shot full of Epinephrine and the world seemed to explode around him.

A hollow, unearthly shriek met his ears then and the shutters lifted from over his eyes. Green coated the rotting boyfriend's mouth and bouts of hissing steam rose from his non-existent lips. He scuttled away from Danny writhing across the floor as his body seemed to erode at an accelerated pace. The soulless eyes gave away no feelings as his body began to melt away, the green spreading like a flesh-eating disease until it absorbed Savannah's boyfriend entirely, quickly reducing him to nothing but a muddy black-brown puddle.

Danny heaved himself to his feet, gripping his wound tightly as he shuffled his way around the vapour-coated bog of mush. Snatching his basket off the floor, Danny fumbled out of the store without looking back. The basket was difficult to carry, but he ignored the ache of his shoulder and scrambled outside.

The streets which were once empty were now littered with the soulless creatures, at least twenty milled around the main street, snarling mournfully to one another, oblivious to the rest of the world.

Danny winced and ducked behind an old sedan, carefully peeking out through the filthy window as one of the creatures groaned from nearby. There was a public post box a few metres away that he could reach if he timed it right, and an old-fashioned ambulance right after that.

The ambulance would have bandages, right? It would have at least some sort of first aid kit, but he wouldn't be able to bring his basket along with him. It was too heavy for him to move fast. Danny licked his lips, trying desperately to ignore the slipperiness of his shoulder as the blood seeped through his fingers.

Sending another quick glance to where the creatures were, he gently placed the basket next to him, and counted under his breath, _'Three… two… one… Go!'_

Danny pushed himself forward, sprinting for the post box and diving behind it, slamming his back against the metal with a soft thud. His chest heaved in fright and exertion as he snatched at his shoulder again with a pained groan. Shaking his head to clear his steadily dizzying mind he glanced around the corner; the creatures hadn't seen him. Good.

Crouching low, Danny prepared himself for his next target, the ambulance. Seated over twenty metres away in all of its red and white glory, Danny nearly let out a relieved cry.

Nodding to himself, he counted down again, _'Okay… Go!'_

His legs struggled to lift him this time, and Danny hobbled more than ran to the ambulance. His breath came out in sharp loud pants and he could see the creatures turn toward him in interest before following him. Danny prayed for his plan to work. He didn't have the energy to run any further and he doubted that even if he did that he would be able to match them in speed.

The ambulance was only a few metres away. Danny shuffled faster. Red coated his right side, gluing his shirt to his small form. He was nearly there, he could reach out a hand now and touch the driver's door.

Danny grasped the handle triumphantly and pulled. It didn't open.

He tugged at it, over and over again, willing it to open. The groans were getting closer now as the hoard of bodies moved in. Danny cursed loudly, kicking the side of the white and red vehicle angrily.

"No! No, no, no! NO!" he screamed. He could see them now in the window's reflection, hands eagerly groping at the air. Danny caught sight of the car keys in the ignition and angrily beat his fists against the door.

"Let me in!" he shoved at the door again, "Let me—!"

It was as if the door never existed. Danny was catapulted into the driver's seat in a sudden rush of air, nearly smacking his head against the gearbox as he tumbled inside. Dizzily he sat up; the creatures slamming into the thick windows, scraping with their fingernails, baring their square teeth as they tried to break through the locked door. Danny stared amazedly at the tiny latch that held the door in place. It was as if he had flown _through_ the glass.

Glancing behind him, Danny found a medical station with a gurney and walls lined with half-full medical supplies. Ignoring the snarls and moans, Danny hefted himself into the back and snatched up a roll of clean bandages. Peeling his shirt off was a painful and slow process as the cotton refused to budge and more than once he felt the overwhelming sensation of nearly fainting. It wasn't until many minutes later that Danny heaved a sigh of relief, tossing the sodden shirt onto the floor next to the bench, and flopped onto the gurney. It wasn't the most comfortable bedding he had ever had, and his bandages chaffed against the hard-padded mattress, but in his light-headed exhaustion Danny happily fell into a dreamless sleep, ignorant of the hoard of creatures that surrounded him.

…

He woke up in the later morning hours of the following day feeling stiff and sore. The snarling hadn't stopped from outside the steel walls of his self-imposed prison. He could see them peering with unblinking eyes through the square portholes – it felt claustrophobic. And lonely. He missed his family; his dad with his boisterous and uplifting attitude, his mother's ever-loving shoulder and his sister's rationalism and level-headedness. He hoped that they were all right.

The ambulance was too old a model to feature any of the usual components modern versions were fitted with. There was no Mobile Data Terminal or video cameras. There had once been a two-way radio installed, but it looked like it had been out of commission for years.

A helpless feeling welled up inside of him. He wished he was home, playing video games with Tucker or arguing over which horror movie sequel was the best with Sam. He wished his parents would show him another one of their crazy inventions while Jazz complained about their lack of cohesive parenting skills. He wished he could go to school and learn about Shakespeare in Mr Lancer's class, he even wished he could be called names by Dash, the quarterback bully, and shoved inside his locker for a whole class period.

He wished everything was the way it was before.

The sun was close to setting when the tears finally began to drip down Danny's face as the sadness consumed him. Stuck in the middle of nowhere filled with reanimated corpses trying to eat him, with no food, water, friends or family, everything felt hopeless. This wasn't his world any more. Those… _things_ had taken it from him.

Then the anger built; riling up inside of him like a tempest in a teacup. The banging on the outer walls hadn't stopped. They had surrounded him. Their grotesque hands sliding across the glass in a feeble attempt to get in as their milky eyes followed his every move, obsessed.

A growl ripped from his throat and he slammed his fists against the doors, "I hate you! Youruined _everything_!" he cried, punctuating each syllable with an angry slam of his fist, ignoring the way the hard metal stung his hand, "This is all your fault! I hate you! I hate you!"

The feeling was welling up again, like he had grabbed the defibrillators in the corner with his bare hands, spreading through his chest and head. A piercing pain stabbed him right behind his eyes as everything turned a soft shade of green, like night-vision during the day.

The door was beginning to dip under the force of his hits, but he didn't notice, "Just leave me alone! Nobody wants you here! Get lost! I HATE YOU!"

Danny reared back his fist a final time, curling the knuckles, and flung his hand at the door lock. In an extraordinary show of strength, the doors flew right off their hinges, colliding with the closest monsters and sending them careening to the ground. A wave of green encircled his fist, before lashing out in a halo, consuming the creatures just like it had the one in the supermarket, sending them tumbling to the earth, writhing in deadpanned agony as their faces and bodies quickly melted away.

Danny gasped for air, flinging himself back onto the gurney in fright. He stared at his hand – it didn't look any different, it wasn't glowing or green...

Had he imagined it?

He shook his head, he couldn't have. The evidence was right outside the ambulance doors in a graveyard of melting bones.

Shakily lifting himself off the bed, he dragged himself outside, swinging off the gurney lift's supportive arms to avoid the steaming gunk surrounding his feet – it looked toxic, like it would burn him to the touch. He carefully crept around the congealed remains of what must have once been a police officer, counting his steps under his breath as he walked toward his shopping basket.

"A-ha!"

The feeling of fear was slowly creeping out of him as he triumphantly hefted his basket up, his shoulder giving only the slightest twinge at the movement. He turned and headed back toward the ambulance, tip-toeing around the gooey mess and climbing back into the van. He cracked open a family-sized bottle of soda and took a deep swig, draining the bottle in minutes and released a loud burp. Giggling, Danny gave the empty town a mocking salute and tossed the plastic bottle into the acrid mess outside.

The monsters' remains seemed to have cooled like tar; they now resembled three-day-old pudding – a thin skin coated the outer layers and the underneath looked like it would eventually harden. It stunk. Danny gagged, pinching his nose. With the ambulance's doors blown off (of which Danny was keenly avoiding thinking about), the smell was wafting throughout the vehicle.

He tried to escape the smell by clambering to the front. The stick-shift sat innocently to his right set in neutral. Danny didn't know much about cars. His dad had promised to teach him how to drive when he turned fifteen, "to get some practise in!" he had said. Danny, after just that morning witnessed his dad nearly run over two old ladies and the neighbour's cat, had swiftly turned to his mum and asked her to teach him instead.

The keys were still sitting innocently in the ignition where he had spotted them earlier. Curious, Danny reached out, snagging the key and giving it a twist.

The ambulance sputtered to life, before giving a wheezing cough and stalled.

Danny frowned, staring down at the pedals curiously. He vaguely remembered his mother describing how to drive a manual vehicle – he had to press in one of the pedals and release it. Whispering 'Eeny-meenie" under his breath, he chose the farthest pedal, carefully compressing his foot against it and twisted the key again.

The alarms went off in a flurry of sound. Red and white lights shone in the midday sun like beacons, the coursing whoop of the siren bouncing through the street lanes. Danny covered his ears as the sound echoed through his skull as he mashed the dashboard, flicking switches and pressing buttons desperately to shut the noise off – his elbow caught on the horn more than once before he gave up and yanked the keys out of the ignition, killing the sound.

Panting heavily, Danny let his head fall onto the steering wheel. The alarm's dying calls echoed through the empty street, bouncing off the vacated townhouses. His shoulder ached in a reminder to his bite and Danny let out a hollow chuckle of disbelief.

Falling back into the leather seat, Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. His sister had in the past tried to suggest to him breathing exercises whenever he felt too stressed or freaked out, so Danny took a deep, slow breath through his nose before exhaling through his mouth and distracted himself by reaching for the glove compartment.

Inside he discovered a map. Dog-eared and worn, the black text had long since faded to a pale grey, but it was still a map all the same. A way to find his family. Little Rock was only a two-hour drive away, there was an airport there. He could get access to a phone and call his family and they could all head straight back home to Illinois where it was safe.

It seemed rather simple on the map. Danny traced the trail with his finger: follow Route 79 all the way to the intersection between Clarendon and Monroe, travel up Route 49 to end up on the interstate – a clear shot to the city.

The grin Danny was sporting slid off his face as tell-tale groans filled the air. Danny squinted out of the windscreen, trying to ignore the sun which burned at his eyes. There, in the distance were hundreds of flesh-feasters, all crying out, arms raised as they dragged their decrepit bodies right toward the ambulance.

Danny swore under his breath. He had to move – _stat_.

Flicking the keys in the ignition Danny cringed as the siren burst to life again, trilling like a cannibalistic dinner bell. The monsters seemed to be even more riled up at the sound, loping across the tarmac frantically to reach him.

Danny's hand hovered over the gearbox – the little voice in his head was telling him to get away quickly, he wouldn't be able to outrun them in his state, there were too many of them. The only choice he had was to learn how to drive and fast.

Danny shoved his foot back down on the clutch and yanked the handbrake loose. The ambulance crooned at him as he gripped the wheel and he shoved his foot on the accelerator, his foot releasing the clutch. The car lurched forward before jolting to a stop, sending Danny's forehead colliding with the wheel.

Rubbing his aching head, Danny stared at the mirrors. The creatures were nearly beside him. He could see their soulless eyes focused entirely on him and a shiver ran its way down his spine. Licking his lips, he turned on the car and tried again, releasing the clutch slower this time. The ambulance began to roll across the ground toward the hoard, and Danny carefully turned the wheel. The street was wide, but so was the ambulance's turning circle. Danny grimaced as he mounted the curb and one of the creatures reached out, a grimy hand swiping his side mirror as he drove past, sending it tumbling to the ground in a heap of bones.

Danny pressed harder on the gas, wary of the way the ambulance creaked in warning but was too afraid to attempt to go up to second gear in fear of stalling it.

He drove out of Marianna without looking back.

…

It was twenty miles out that Danny tried to go up a gear, and it nearly sent him careening through the windshield. Clicking on the seatbelt, Danny started up the ambulance again, ignoring the blaring lights and sounds and slowly released the clutch, moving into second gear with only the slightest jolt.

' _Do I still need to learn how to parallel park if it's the end of the world?'_ Danny mused to himself as he eased into third, the ambulance cheerily calling warning to anyone and anything in a half-mile radius. He tried to turn on the radio to drown out the noise but only got static for his efforts. Danny sighed, relenting to put up with the irritating sound as he turned onto 79.

The road was straight like a bullet's line of fire, encompassed by never-ending fields of green. Farmhouses spattered the scenery in a blur as he sped past; there wasn't a flesh-feaster in sight. The tightness in his chest loosened as he stared out at the monotonous paddocks, the siren's whooping phased into a dull symphony in the back of his mind. He was approaching Marvell now; it looked even smaller than Marianna.

Danny didn't stop as he flew down the main street. He could see the creatures lift their heads in his direction as they meandered around the shop fronts – he didn't see a single living being as he drove through and he didn't stop to check; he couldn't bring himself to. It took only four minutes to make it across town before he had breached the edge, speeding off toward the Route 49 turn-off. He drove for over an hour, passing town after town, never stopping, never looking back.

Danny swooped onto the interstate with little thought, carefully meandering his way around vacated cars, which only seemed more and more common the closer he got to Little Rock, only to slam on the brakes less than ten miles from the city; the road was blocked.

A steel wall encircled the road, reaching over twelve feet tall. Cars were piled up on top of one another in a scrapheap graveyard before the roller gate. Danny could see cars bogged in the mud surrounding the crash where they had attempted to go around the barricade and more than one truck was smoking furiously in the distance. There was no way around it. Graffiti smattered the iron panels, crying out warnings and death threats in fluoro pink and green.

Danny jumped as the radio flickered to life from its ever-constant state of static. It was choppy, but there. Danny turned it up in hopes he could hear it over the blare of the sirens.

"— _The attorney general has called for a city-wide lock-down only six days ago— Refugee camps have been opened across town—"_ static rang through the radio momentarily, _"—are required to register themselves immediately and be reviewed for infection. Those unable to identify themselves as a citizen of Little Rock will be escorted to—"_ the announcer's voice crackled and died in a flurry of white noise.

Danny switched the ambulance off, revelling in the silence for only a few seconds before he began to think: if his parents and his sister had made their way toward Little Rock they would have had to have reached the same pile-up, and with his dad's obsession with bad pop music he would have made certain to keep the radio on in hopes of hearing the latest top 40, even during the end of the world. It would have been impossible for his family to have reached the city through the interstate, especially with it in lockdown.

Danny and his family had planned on visiting their great uncle in Knoxville, Tennessee after seeing Aunt Alicia. It would be a long drive, but it was all he had. His parents would head there hopefully, or he would at least be able to find a phone to call home. It had always driven Danny crazy that his mother refused to buy a cell phone.

Danny looked at the fuel gauge of the ambulance. It was hovering dangerously on near empty. With a sigh, he glanced around, spotting a rather nice sports car sitting in a ditch with its wheels' half-submerged in mud.

Snatching up his map and shopping basket, he hopped out of the old ambulance, giving the hood a soft pat before making his way over to the orange beast. It was bogged deep in the mud, but the door was slightly ajar; Danny snorted at the fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror and placed his supplies on the passenger seat floor. Stealing the keys from where they were wedged in the seat, Danny headed toward the back of the flashy car and bent down to stare at the tires. The mud had started to dry and crack around the rims, making him frown; the car had to weigh at least half a ton – quite a difference to his hundred and ten pounds.

Placing his hands on the trunk, Danny squared his shoulders and pushed.

And pushed.

And pushed.

And pushed some more.

His legs slipped from the loosening earth and his shoulder ached furiously, yet he couldn't stop. The car gargled curiously but refusing to budge.

Collapsing heavily across the slick orange paint job Danny grumbled to himself, panting; he had to get to Tennessee. He had to find his family.

Determination surged through him, travelling from his tight chest through to his aching limbs, washing away the strain and pain like an ocean of unknown strength – Danny had never felt this sort of feeling before the accident with the portal, but now he embraced it – revelled in it. Devoured it.

He rested his hands back on the trunk of the car, digging his feet into the ground and pushed. Dried mud flaked over his jeans and bandaging as the wheels creaked forward, each shove loosening the car from its early grave. Danny grinned, the momentum pressing it forward, the car was nearly free. Just a little more…

"Grrawr!"

"Aaah!"

A hand burst out from under the car, the rotten fist reaching out to clasp onto his calf. Danny jerked back so suddenly that the decomposing body followed with him, dragging itself out of the dried mud and deadened grass. The flesh-feaster was nothing but a torso now, dressed in wrap-around sunglasses so he couldn't see its pale milky eyes. It snarled at him with mud-caked skin threatening to fall off its cheekbones. Danny furiously kicked at the arm with his free leg, grimacing when it fell completely from its socket to hang loosely in what once may have been an expensive button-down. The creature didn't flinch, simply raised its other arm in hope of grabbing him.

Danny shot to his feet, giving the monster a wide berth as he yanked open the driver's side and sat in the seat, jerking the door shut. He glared at it through the rear-view mirror with the fuzzy dice as it crawled pitifully, mouth gnawing on air. Looking away, he threw the (thankfully automatic) car into drive, easing his way back onto the deserted interstate and pressing his foot to the floor.

He disappeared in a cloud of dust and asphalt.

…

It took more than five hours to make it to the outskirts of Knoxville. The sun had long since set and Danny had been forced to turn on the lights as he sped through the backroads to avoid the hoards. He had barely made it into Memphis to discover that the city had been overrun. Danny had been thankful that he no longer was driving the out-of-date ambulance as the flesh-feasters had charged at him – he was trying desperately to ignore the possibility that Knoxville may be overrun as well.

A sign seated above a pile of burnt bodies welcomed him to Knoxville and Danny forced himself to swallow the bile that built in the back of his throat. The roads were empty, the rev of the engine bouncing off the walls of deserted buildings as he drove further into the city.

Lower level office buildings were barricaded in, metal security shutters were drawn, and rubbish filled the streets like the Great Pacific garbage patch had been overturned on top of the city. Danny grimaced at the smell, rolling up his windows and turning the air conditioning on low.

Turning onto North Parkway, Danny stared in what he could only claim as an odd sort of remorse as he drove past a defunct fast food restaurant – the cheerful glowing sign that he recognised from the hundreds of television commercials had long since dimmed and cracked, the windows shattered in and the car park empty.

His stomach churned in urgency. He had kept his rations of food and water, but he had yet to stop for a bathroom break for almost two days except for a few quick pit-stops in some bushes on the side of an abandoned road. Danny swooped into the free lot, parking in a disabled spot and hopped out of the car, snatching the keys from the ignition and locking his groceries inside.

He crept up to the door and peered inside. It was dark without the lights – he could barely make out the restaurant's clown mascot as it grinned sadistically down at him, daring him to enter at his own risk. Danny pushed the door open, ignoring the broken windows and treading carefully around the glass shards. A stanchion pole was seated neatly by the entrance for customers to queue up and order. Danny snatched the metal post, unhooking the rich red rope attached, and held it in two hands like a baseball bat. It was heavy and it hurt to lift it above his elbow with his shoulder, but it was the best he had.

Holding it out in front of him, Danny crept through the fast food joint, sneaking behind the counter to peer into the kitchen to see whether any of the flesh-feasters were hanging by the deep fryers and cockroaches. He was happy to find they weren't. His stomach gave another squeamish turn and so, satisfied with the eatery, snuck his way toward the bathrooms. He had three choices; the men's, the women's or the unisex disabled. Licking his lips, Danny carefully knocked on the men's bathroom door and placed his ear against the panel.

He didn't have to wait long; twin feral snarls called out and a heavy body hit the other side, fingernails scraping against the sealed wood, another following shortly after. Danny waited, tense, for the door to give way, but it didn't budge.

He moved on to the disabled toilets, tapping on the door softly. He thought he heard a growl, but nothing made its way to the sliding door. Grasping the handle Danny rolled it open and stepped inside. The automatic light flickered on and he halted in his steps. Trapped beside the narrow sink sat a flesh-feaster – her cheeks were gaunt and hollow like she hadn't eaten in months. Her teeth snapped but she didn't move, bound by the strap of the wheelchair which had fallen to the side, pinning her arms. Danny stared at the creature, pity rising in his chest – she must have been trapped in here for days on end, unable to move, calling for help all alone before...

Danny wrenched his eyes away from the scene, stepping back out into the narrow alcove and quietly closing the door behind him, watching the light dim once again from the crack underneath the door.

He didn't hesitate heading into the women's, a quick tap on the door and its long, deep creak brought him the comfort that the bathroom was truly empty. It was after when he went to wash his hands that he finally got a look at himself in the mirror. His once black hair with the recent addition of a lightning-bolt patch of white was sweat-ridden and stuck to the base of his scalp like glue. Dirt streaked it an ashen brown and his skin was four shades darker with the grime. His chest was still bare after he had ditched his blood-soaked and ragged shirt, and for the first time Danny could get a proper look at his shoulder - it looked irritated and had a green tinge to it under the harsh fluorescents, but it had long since started to scab over from where it sat under the bandages. Blood still covered his side in a splatter of black-browns and vibrant reds.

He turned the faucet on full-blast, shoving his hands under the icy cold water and splashing it on his face, rubbing at his skin until it felt raw. He was careful around his shoulder, snatching paper towels and dabbing around the bite-mark before scrubbing the rest of his body. It was the closest he was going to get to a shower, at least until he found his family and was on his way home.

Turning off the tap, Danny ran a hand through his wet hair before dragging it over his face. He was exhausted. He leaned against the sink, thinking to himself how easy it would be to just crawl onto the bathroom tiles and go to sleep. Or in one of the booths with the vinyl cushioning. Yeah, that didn't sound too bad.

He had just stepped outside when he heard the entrance bell chime followed by soft whispers. There were people here. Living, breathing people. Danny felt a grin tattoo itself across his face – maybe it was his mum and dad? Maybe they'd found him somehow through all of this mess?

There was a crackle before a tinny voice met his ears, "Jameson, Rodriguez, don't leave any spot unturned, make sure they're clear. See any of those bastards, you shoot 'em, got it? Call in when the location is secure."

"Roger that," came the twin replies.

Heavy footsteps padded across the ground and he swore he heard the tell-tale sound of a gun being cocked. Danny considered heading back into the women's, but the soldiers were too close. There was only one option – the disabled bathroom.

Carefully, Danny dragged the door along its roller, squeezing through the narrow gap as the automatic light came on. He stopped short at the sight of the flesh-feaster pinned under the wheelchair before tucking himself away in the farthest corner, nudging the door shut with his foot. The creature hissed and growled at him, sightless eyes staring longingly and Danny barely breathed.

The footsteps were following the same pattern as he did, circling the kitchen and the dining area – any second now they would make their way to the bathrooms. The flesh-feaster was becoming irritated now, fervidly calling for him across the room. Danny listened as the others in the men's room began to growl and thump against the door.

He couldn't hear the soldiers' footsteps over the growls, but he heard the gunfire.

Danny tried not to flinch. The sound echoing through his brain like his own personal alarm; t _ick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, BANG! BANG! BANG!_

The soldiers were talking to each other now, but the sound of gunfire kept playing through Danny's mind, making it hard to concentrate. He prayed that the automatic light would dim, and Danny forced himself still, ignoring the way his shoulder ached and his foot began to cramp.

But with no luck. The girl in the wheelchair let out an angry bark and the talking stopped. Danny held his breath, shoving himself into the corner as far as possible when a thought ran through his mind – _play dead._

It took an exponential amount of effort to loosen his muscles; his nerves were so tightly strung that he struggled to open his balled fists. He lolled his head onto his sore shoulder and turned to face the wall, hiding his features from sight, his legs splayed out in front of his half-slumped form in what he could only hope was a half-decent acting job.

The door slid open with no notice. He refused to look in the direction of the soldiers, keeping his eyes tightly shut as they stepped into the room. The growling heightened in sound and he heard one of the soldiers sigh.

"Poor sucker," he said.

"Stop feeling bad for it, Jameson, and shoot it. We're on a schedule here!"

There was a moment of silence before the gunshot went off; it bounced across the walls and Danny could feel something wet trickle across the heel of his foot, soaking the hem of his jeans.

"What about that one?" he heard.

Danny bit his lip, sweat pouring down his face as one of the soldiers stepped closer. A steel-capped boot nudged him in the thigh, but he didn't move. The boot hit him sharper this time (Danny was sure he was going to get a bruise from it) before the soldier moved away.

"Dead. No point wasting the bullets," was all Jameson said.

"Let's go then. We've got another two blocks to check before we can call it a day."

The door slid shut behind them and Danny was cast into darkness. He counted to a hundred seven times before he considered it safe. The liquid that was soaking the leg of his pants had long since made its way up to his thigh. But it was silent. Dead silent.

Danny hiccupped a breath, gulping down any air that he could. The room held an acrid copper smell, along with the scent of fireworks on the Fourth of July – he ignored it, slowly getting to his feet and treading carefully toward the door. The light flickered back on, as helpful as ever, but Danny made a point to avoid looking at the farthest wall as he stepped outside, turning quickly on his heel for the restaurant's exit.

He half-jogged toward the conspicuous car. Fishing the keys from his back pocket he thrust them into the lock, turning them and hearing the satisfying click of the doors opening.

A cheerful tapping against the car roof made him look up. Opposite him on the passenger's side was a rather large man dressed in camouflage grey with a broad nose and skin the colour of undiluted coffee.

"Playing possum, were you?"

Danny licked his chapped lips, tasting the blood where his anxious nibbling had split it, "Maybe," was all he said.

The man, who he recognised to be the voice of Jameson, gave an inviting grin, "The engine was still warm."

Danny looked at Jameson warily, "What do you want?"

"We're patrolling. It's our job to look for survivors and to get rid of the biters."

"Biters?"

Jameson nodded at the fast food restaurant, "You know, the thing you were playing happy housemates with? Biters."

"Oh," Danny frowned. Biters were an apt name for them, and much less of a mouthful than flesh-feasters.

"What's the holdup here?" called out a voice. A man came from around the corner, his short-cropped hair hidden beneath his army cap. He was short, standing at eye-level to Danny, but the way he held himself screamed danger.

"Rodriguez, this is… er, what's your name, kid?"

"Danny."

Rodriguez took a few steps closer, "How long have you been in the city? Not many survivors out here; could count how many we've picked up in the last week on one hand."

"Survivors?" he asked nervously.

Jameson shrugged, "We had transport crews running in and out of the city constantly heading for Fort Benning in the state over for the first two weeks of the outbreak, but we don't do that anymore since people stopped showing up at the evacuation points. Mostly it's just search and destroy now, try and get a hold back on the situation."

Danny hissed through his teeth. Over two weeks. Is that how long the outbreak had been going on for? The time in isolation with Aunt Alicia without even a radio made it hard to keep track. But he knew his parents wouldn't have made it to the Fort – they wouldn't have known about it, just like him. They must still be in the city somewhere...

"Have you seen a big man with black hair and two women with red? The guy is about this tall," Danny stood on his tip-toes and gestured with a hand in the air, "and blathers on about ghosts a lot? He'll be wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, and his wife would be matching – in blue! With short hair! And Jazz, well, her hair is longer, and she likes to talk about—"

Jameson hefted his gun over his shoulder, seemingly at ease with pity in his eyes, "Lost your group, huh?"

Danny blinked, "Group? Group of what? No, they're my family. My mum and dad and sister…"

Now Jameson looked with even more pity and Rodriguez was avoiding his eye, "We're sorry, kid. Haven't caught sight of them, and at this rate… I don't think you're going to have any luck."

He placed a sympathetic hand on Danny's shoulder, placing weight on the bite mark hidden underneath the slightly sodden (but mostly clean) bandages. He let out a yelp of pain, making Jameson retract his hand quickly.

"What happened to your shoulder, kid?" Rodriguez asked.

Danny shook his head, "It's nothing. I just… had a run in with one of those biters a while back. But I'm okay! Just a bit sore."

Jameson narrowed his eyes and lunged forward, snagging the bandages and yanking them off. "Hey, watch it!" Danny groaned as the scab tore and oozing blood dripped down his clavicle.

Twin gasps made his look up, grasping his shoulder.

"He's been bit," Rodriguez stated, "You know protocol."

"Protocol? What's protocol?" Danny muttered nervously.

Jameson looked queasy, giving Danny an uneven stare, "We're sorry, Danny," he said and lifted his gun. Rodriguez did the same, aiming it at his head.

"What? Wait, no!" Danny cried as they pulled the triggers.

A strange sensation fluttered about him – like he was enveloped in a cloak of nothingness. He felt so light he thought that the soft draft of wind could drag him from gravity's boundaries into the stratosphere if he didn't keep a hold of it. He could see the bullets rushing at him, the guns going off in succession. But as the feeling swept over him, he could no longer feel anything. He couldn't feel the car handle digging into his lower back, he couldn't feel the chill of the evening air peppering his skin with goose-bumps and he couldn't feel the bullets as they rushed right through his skull, leaving his head perfectly intact and unharmed.

He was dragged back to gravity so quickly that Danny wasn't even sure it had happened. Only the gaping faces of the two soldiers told him it had.

"Wh-what?" Rodriguez gasped, yanking out the magazine of his pistol to check the bullet-count. Jameson was shaking his head astounded, gun hanging limply by his side.

"It went right through," he muttered, "I saw it."

Rodriguez raced forward, shoving Danny against the car, " _What was that?_ "

Danny blinked, terrified as the man stared him in the eyes, gun cocked in hand, "I— I don't know! That's never happened before!"

Rodriguez looked down at the bite, Danny followed his gaze. It was glumly seeping a strange green fluid, the same viscosity of blood. The scabbing was mostly still in place.

"How old is that bite?" Rodriguez asked, raising his gun to Danny's cheek, "And don't even think of lying."

Danny was at his wit's end, "Two days!" he cried, "Nearly three!"

Jameson reached over and dragged Rodriguez off who didn't put up a fight, staring in amazement at Danny.

"Two days?" Jameson whispered, "You've been bitten for two days and haven't turned?"

"Turned?" Danny asked. His heart was in his throat, making him sound congested.

Rodriguez and Jameson looked at one another before turning to Danny, "Nobody's ever gone that long with a biter's mark before. There have been announcements on the intercoms and radios that nobody has lasted more than eight hours before the change took them…"

"Wait, you think I'm going to turn into a _biter_?" Danny asked, flabbergasted, "I thought you only had to be killed by them!"

Jameson hadn't let go of his gun, but lowered it to his side, "Their bites and scratches are infectious. First, you get the bite, then you get the fever, then you die, then you come back… as one of them. Only way to take them down is a shot to the brain."

The heart in Danny's throat was threatening to choke him now.

"Maybe it was a fluke," Rodriguez said, his gun shaking in his hand, "Maybe we just missed. Maybe we should try again."

Danny was about to let out a squawk of horror when Jameson shushed them, "Do you hear that?"

He listened over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. There was the tell-tale sound of growls, buzzing like an angry hive of bees.

"Get in the car!" Jameson hissed, snatching open the passenger-side door and heaved himself inside. Rodriguez shoved Danny out of the way as he flung himself into the driver's seat forcing Danny to take the back-suicide door. He didn't have a chance to strap himself in when Rodriguez hit the gas, nearly sending him tumbling from his seat as they rounded a corner.

They flew through the streets, swerving left and right to avoid empty traffic. Danny could see the biters emerging from the shadows now; hundreds of them flittered by in a haze of colour that made Danny feel sick.

"We need to get to Fort Benning!" Jameson cried to Rodriguez who nodded, gripping the steering wheel harder.

"What? No! We can't! I have to find my family!" Danny cried from the back.

Rodriguez let out an angry growl, "Kid you gotta face it. If any of your family is still in this city I can promise you that they aren't going to be welcoming you with open arms as much as open mouths."

Danny scowled, "You don't know that! They could still be out there looking for me right now! Let me out!"

Jameson turned to face him, "Danny, if what you said about your bite is true then we need you. You could save the entire world with whatever is in you."

"The world wouldn't be worth saving if my family wasn't part of it," Danny hissed back, angry tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

"Don't be selfish, kid! We're talking about saving the entire human race from extinction here!" Rodriguez shouted, taking another tight turn.

"I don't care! Let me out! I need to find my family!" Danny leant over to the suicide door, flinging it open with a mighty push. The car wobbled on its axis as seventy miles per hour of wind caught on the door like a broken bird's wing, threatening to snap it right off its hinges and drag the car off the road.

"Whoa!" the soldiers cried, Rodriguez gripping the wheel as he struggled to keep it straight.

Danny snatched at the rim of the roof, half-dragging himself outside. His hair whipped around his face like lashes from a nine-tails and Danny had to pinch his eyes to stop them stinging.

"Danny, get in the car! You'll kill yourself!"

Danny scoffed, "Like you didn't already try that!" he yelled over the wind.

The car door gave an almighty creak before the hinges popped, sending it careening down the road behind them. He watched half-fascinated as it collided with a group of biters, crushing them under the force.

Danny smacked his hands against the roof like a drum, "Let me out! Stop the car!"

"Okay, okay!"

The car slowed to a stop in the middle of the road and Danny felt a little disoriented as he stepped out of the vehicle, his legs wobbling as he wandered across the tarmac.

He heard the sport car doors open and two pairs of pounding feet chase after him. Without hesitation Danny broke out into a sprint – he wasn't going to let these two stop him from reaching his family. They were still alive, he knew it.

"Danny!" Jameson called out.

"Wait up, kid!" Rodriguez cried.

Danny ignored them, ducking into an alleyway toward where he hoped the main street was. He'd be able to find his way from there – get to his great-uncle's house and hopefully find Jack, Maddie and Jazz. But the alley was a dead-end. Literally.

Biters stood idly at the other side, each turning their rotting heads curiously at him and shifting forward, bumping into one another to reach him. Danny spun around on the spot only to crash into Jameson and Rodriguez who were looking worriedly behind.

Danny glanced around them to see another impending wall of biters. They were trapped, Flesh-feasters coming at them from either side, their canines as blunt as any other person's but unfettered hunger evident in each of their faces that promised no human limitations were going to stop them.

Rodriguez snatched his radio, "Pearson, we need immediate backup. We've got at least thirty biters surrounding us between the North Parkway and Old Hickory Boulevard, no exits, no fire escapes!"

The radio crackled, "We're two streets over. We're gonna try and eradicate the herd from this end to reach you guys, so hold tight."

"We don't have that much time!' Jameson cried into his own radio. He didn't get a response.

Danny was hyperventilating now. He couldn't seem to get enough oxygen into his lungs, he couldn't focus. The world swirled around him like he was still travelling seventy miles an hour while stagnant. His shoulder hurt from where Jameson had grabbed it and green blood still leaked from it sluggishly, spreading across his once semi-clean bandages. Rodriguez grabbed Danny, dragging him back to the wall where he and Jameson held themselves, guns cocked.

'Shoot the damn things!" Rodriguez cried.

The bullets hit each of the biters directly in the head, sending them tumbling to the ground unmoving, but more biters simply climbed over their fallen comrades in their place. Rodriguez and Jameson switched out their magazines for fresh, full ones and started shooting again. But there were too many – more than Danny could even see.

Rodriguez and Jameson flung themselves back at the wall next to Danny, "We're out of bullets," they explained, "The only thing we can do now is pray for a miracle."

Danny could hear gunfire in the distance, peppering the streets with the sound of automatic armoury. Some of the biters turned in interest at the sound, but most continued their slow gait toward them. Jameson tossed his gun at one of the nearer ones and Danny watched it bounce off its head to clatter to the ground.

"Can't say we didn't try," Jameson said morosely. Rodriguez looked like he wanted to punch the wall.

But then the biters stopped. Around five feet away they circled them, arms outstretched but unable to take another step as if an invisible barrier had been erected.

"What?" Jameson whispered, shuffling forward. The biters twisted on the spot, snarling wildly at him with fervour as they groped for him. Danny snapped himself out of his haze and reached out to drag him back. The biters nearly fell over themselves to get out of the way, while the ones behind Danny leapt forward to reach Rodriguez who skittered toward Danny and Jameson.

"What's going on?" he barked, "Why aren't they attacking us?"

Rodriguez stared down at Danny with bewilderment, "They _are_ attacking us, Jameson. They just aren't touching the kid."

Danny glanced down at himself, he looked as normal as ever. Short, messy hair, tanned skin… Seeping green bite mark…

He raised a hand to his wound, stripping the sodden material away and allowing the bite mark to breathe in fresh air. The biters let out a hallowed shriek, stumbling back another two feet as they clawed at the air trying to reach the two soldiers.

Jameson grinned, "Come on, we're getting out of here," he said, nudging Danny forward. The biters parted as if he was Moses crossing the Red Sea. The walls were too narrow for a lot of them, and many were crushed by others in their desperation to stay out of Danny's way.

Danny watched in abject curiosity as they reluctantly moved. His mind was becoming straighter as the likelihood of death rescinded. They calmly walked through the alleyway toward the _rat-tat-tat_ of gunfire, Rodriquez and Jameson glued to his side like personal bodyguards. Danny fought back a snort at that thought, considering that _he_ , at five feet four inches, was the one protecting _them_.

Caught up in his musings, he missed what Jameson said over the radio, but a loud call made him look up. A military Humvee was seated in the middle of the road, a platoon of soldiers stationed on the roof, automatic weapons hitting the biters surrounding them with deadly accuracy. They stopped at the sight of the approaching rag-tag group, as the undead moved out of Danny's way with woeful cries and outstretched fingers. They reached the side of the Humvee.

"Let's rollout, Pearson, before we attract any more nasties."

The soldiers took advantage of Danny's barrier and slipped inside without question. Rodriguez nudged Danny forward to follow before ducking in after him, narrowly missing the biter's hands who grabbed at him.

"Jameson, Rodriguez. Good to see you're safe. And you… Danny, was it?"

Danny nodded, "Er, yeah. Who are you?"

"Sargent Pearson. And these are Officers Daley, Morgan and Andrews," The soldiers at the front of Humvee nodded in succession.

Pearson leaned forward in his seat, staring at Danny, "You're an amazing kid, Danny. What you're capable of doing – what Jameson and Rodriguez have told me about… you're going to bring the world back from the hell-hole it's become."

The Humvee started moving slowly, running straight over any wayward biters. Danny shook his head, "I'm not leaving until I find my family."

Pearson sighed, rolling his eyes before he said more firmly, "Don't be selfish, Danny, it's your duty as a human being to help us – to help the _world_. You can save millions of lives—"

"I'm not being selfish!" Danny yelled, "Isn't it _your_ duty to help civilians? Well then help me find my family! Help me—! Hey!"

A pair of handcuffs were snapped around his wrists by a surly Rodriguez and he was shoved harshly into the wall, "What are you doing? You can't do this!" Danny watched through the windows as the Humvee broke free of the biters, picking up speed, "My family are looking for me! This is kidnapping!"

"Make way for Fort Benning," Pearson said, ignoring Danny's angry outbursts and clambering into the front. Andrews sped the Humvee up and Danny watched despondently as they quickly made their way down the main roads out of the city.

…

It took many hours for them to reach the state of Georgia. Danny, exhausted, had fallen in and out of sleep multiple times, waking up to different shades of the night and day. The pot-holes and tight corners didn't help with his sleeping patterns. Jolting him into consciousness far too often for his liking, which led him to where he was now, hundreds of miles from Arkansas and hundreds more from Illinois. Officer Andrews eyed him suspiciously from the seat across, playing the active guard on duty as he held his gun tightly in his glove-wrapped wrists.

Jameson was on the seat beside him, head bent down in deep sleep with Rodriguez on the other side, staring into nothingness. Nobody spoke. Nobody ever spoke much at all unless it was over radio transmission. They certainly never tried to speak to Danny. He rubbed his bitten shoulder with a grimace – the bleeding had long stopped but the scabbing had started to itch; and the dirty, dried bandages certainly weren't helping it. The soldiers had been both oddly fascinated and terrified of the bite as if they were expecting Danny to turn at any second.

He'd been dozing when he felt a sharp pinch. Rodriguez had jabbed a large syringe into his arm, extracting a tube of blood.

"What the heck, dude?" Danny rattled his handcuffs as the needle was capped and stuffed into one the officer's pocket.

"Research," he had simply muttered in response before reaching over to grip his jaw tightly.

"Hey!" Danny protested as Rodriguez shoved his head forward. Pearson was holding a Polaroid camera with a stern expression that gave nothing away.

"Smile for the camera, baby!" one of the men upfront jeered. Danny scowled deeply as the flash went off.

They'd passed through Alabama a few hours ago, but the six-hour drive had nearly taken double the time due to the hordes of biters that travelled the main roads. He had been told that they were going to have to breach the outskirts of Atlanta city to avoid the built-up traffic and herds.

Danny stared out the window, bored. He hadn't seen another living soul since he'd been picked up by the army crew. He had never been to Georgia before, and truly never expressed any interest in going either, but now he _hated_ the place. This was the place that was holding him back from finding his family – this was the place that was taking him even further away from his home and friends.

Something caught his eye through the window. Leaning forward in his seat, he peered out as they drove past. A large RV was parked in the opposite lane. An old man seated on the roof as people mingled about.

"There are people out there!' Danny cried, "It looks like they've broken down!"

"So?" Rodriguez asked apathetically.

Danny frowned, "Well, shouldn't we help them?"

"They aren't important," Pearson told Danny from the front seat, "We've got our priorities. Once we get you to Fort Benning then you'll be able to help the _real_ people that need it."

"Like yourself?" Danny asked scathingly.

Pearson acted like he hadn't heard him, "How's our fuel supply, Daley?"

"Not good, sir. Next bus we pass we're going to have to siphon some of its gas."

"Take it from that truck over there. I don't want to risk running out before we find one."

The Humvee slowed to a stop less than a mile down the road. Jameson woke with a start and moved to help the others.

"Stay here," he told Danny.

Danny rolled his eyes. He couldn't exactly go anywhere with his hands cuffed and six trained army-men watching his every move.

The soldiers hustled out, checking nearby cars for supplies and grabbing the canister and hose to help drain fuel. He could see Pearson out of the narrow window glaring out into the horizon, his back straighter than a ruler; there was a vein pulsing near the base of his skull, fast and alert.

Pearson twisted his head suddenly and called out to his men, his voice gruff and tight, "Biter herd, counting a few hundred. How are we going, men?"

Danny heard Andrews call out some whiles away, "The truck is empty, sir. We're trying to steal some fuel from some of the others—"

"Well hurry up then!" Pearson near shouted.

Danny shuffled closer to the door, careful to keep the chain binding his hands from rattling. He stared into the distance where the Biters were coming from; they looked like ever-moving bodies of muddy water, rolling and swaying in a way that would only look natural in the flows of a river and was discombobulating on land. Their choir calls reached out over the half-mile away like banshees and Danny shivered. The soldiers were hustling now, dodging from car to car to siphon any excess they could find, but with no luck. The herd was a few hundred yards away when Pearson called them, ordering them into the Humvee; the soldiers didn't hesitate, clambering into the back – Danny was squished against the far wall as Jameson squeezed over to make room for Daley, shooting him an apologetic grin. Pearson was the last to enter, swinging the door closed, sending the group into lukewarm darkness behind the tinted windows.

They sat in silence for what felt like hours but could easily have been just minutes when Danny burst out, "We have to warn that group!"

Andrews quickly reached over and slammed a dirt-covered palm across his mouth, making him gag, "We won't be doing anything, kid; we are officially in lockdown until the situation is taken care of. It's too late for them – they're on their own. So, shut up before the biters hear us. You might not be susceptible, but I don't fancy myself to be someone's three-course meal."

"But they'll die if we don't tell them!" Danny cried shoved the palm away.

Pearson leaned over, "People die, Danny. That's life. As much as we want to help them, you're the priority. What you can do can save so many more people – you can end this suffering, this… war. Think about that."

Danny saw the disapproving looks the soldiers threw his way and knew he was acting childish, but he'd seen the disjointed group they had left behind; a mix of both young and old – the boy that had been standing next to the man in the sheriff's hat couldn't have been older than twelve and there had been a little girl glued to her mother's side like she was a breathing security blanket. What made them less important?

The moans crept closer and Danny could hear the rubber soles of the biter's shoes and sandals scraping against the boiling tarmac as they slithered by. Danny fought the urge to stuff his hand in his mouth to quieten his breathing as the soldiers sat, not moving a muscle. They stayed in the claustrophobic darkness for an age as the biters slowly meandered past, and Danny was terrified – truly terrified – but he couldn't let go of the image in his head of the boy and girl being faced with the monsters.

The tingling feeling appeared again, thrumming through his body in between heartbeats, but the wind didn't steal him this time, gravity did. Danny gave a terrified yelp as he slipped through the Humvee's seat. The tarmac greeted him like a sledgehammer to the back and Danny struggled to even let out a groan as the wind was knocked out of him. He looked up at the underside of the car confused, too shocked to wonder how he ended up outside of it when he had been seated securely inside.

He heard angry yells from the Humvee and Danny watched the shuffling feet of the Biters turn back to the car, growling curiously.

The back of the Humvee was flung open and Danny heard bullets fly furiously as the soldiers fired. His name was called more than once over the gunshots, snapping him awake. He rolled onto his stomach and began to crawl forward to where he could spot the reinforced boots below the suspension. Biters fell around him like children singing 'ring-around-the-rosie' with bullets lodged into their skulls. Danny heaved himself forward, trying not to breathe as the smell of rotting flesh invaded his senses, making bile rise in the back of his throat. A biter collapsed a few feet beside him, shot in the leg by a wayward bullet. Danny watched, hands still shackled as it pulled itself forward on its stomach. Its teeth clacked and blackish gunk covered the front of its shirt, hands clawing at the gravel as it edged closer to him.

"It's okay," Danny hissed to himself, "It can't touch me."

The biter moaned, dragging itself closer.

"It can't touch me," he muttered, nervous now, "It'll stop. Any second."

It was only a hair's breadth away. Danny gulped.

"It's not stopping! It's not stopping! _Somebody, help! Somebody_ —!"

The barrier Danny had somehow formed must have been a fluke. He gasped as a mottled hand narrowly scraped at the bottom of his sneaker and lurched forward, rolling out from under the car and clambered clumsily to his feet. He found himself between Andrews and Jameson.

"Danny! What did you think you were doing?" Jameson roared, taking down two biters in succession.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Danny gasped, his voice raspy with fright.

Jameson gave him a look before turning back to the herd surrounding them, "We can't get back into the Humvee, Daley stuffed a few in there before we got overrun. We're stuck out here."

Andrews' automatic clicked forebodingly, "And I'm out of ammo," twisting the grip on his gun, he rammed the butt into a nearby biter's skull and roared, "Come on!"

Jameson followed suit shortly after his own gun emptied, furiously swiping at the endless sea of biters.

Danny huddled behind Jameson, nervously dodging a biter that came too close before the man sent the end of his gun straight through its eye socket.

"Come on, kid, we'd really appreciate it if you could work your magic now!" Andrews yelled desperately, swinging wildly as the herd blocked them in. Danny shoved his back into the Humvee's door, jumping as a biter slammed its rotting face against it from inside, leaving mucus and rotten flesh across the glass.

"I can't!" Danny told Andrews.

"What do you mean you can't?" called Pearson. He had shoved his way through the hoard to reach their side. Snatching Danny by his bare shoulder, he snarled, "Wanna repeat what you just said?"

Danny, terrified, stuttered out, "I— I can't seem to make whatever I did work again!"

Pearson leaned down, digging his thumbs into Danny's bite wound, making him shriek in pain, "Well _make_ it work."

" _Please_ , let go! Stop!" Danny sobbed, the bite sending an excruciating jolt running through his spine and up to his temple – the sight in his left eye blurred into a swirl of reds as a blood vessel burst. He couldn't even lift his arms to stop the man. He was in too much agony.

"Sargent! He's just a kid—!"

"A kid who is hiding the answer to saving our hides, Jameson! The others are already gone or dead, and I swear the last thing I'm going to be is a free meal for some low-life— Aaargh!"

Danny tore himself from Pearson's death grip when the army man stumbled back. The biter that had slid under the Humvee after Danny had lunged forward, clamping its jaws onto Pearson's calf through the thick material. Blood burst from the wound and Jameson and Andrews called out to their commander. Danny snatching his newly-bleeding shoulder, watching in horror as Pearson stumbled back, right into Jameson.

The man, not expecting the extra weight, lost his balance, his gun falling out of his grip. Biters crowded around him without hesitation, and Danny watched horrified as the two soldiers were surrounded; teeth digging into flesh, gushing over biters' faces. The sound of their screams was bound to haunt him for weeks. Andrews was short to follow, biters surrounding him like an all-you-can-eat buffet, and Danny fought the urge to cover his ears at the man's begs for mercy.

A biter made a leap for Danny, aiming to tear his nose right off his face, and he squeaked, quickly jumping out of the way. Most of the biters were distracted by their meals, circling around the now-motionless bodies. Danny ducked back under the Humvee, dragging his way across the gravel and slicing his hands open on a few stray rocks.

Some of the biters had followed him. Danny, wrought with terror, forced himself to ignore them, pulling himself to the front of the Humvee, dragging his weakened body up by the grate, his manacled hands clanking against the hot camouflaged metal. Not giving himself any time to catch his breath, Danny pushed forward, bolting for the cover of the forest that enclosed the eastern side of the road.

He stumbled over loose rocks and branches, his breath coming out in heaving pants, threatening to drown out the groans of the approaching biters. There was a river a little ways ahead and Danny rushed toward it. The water was chilly and much deeper than he expected. He struggled to gain his footing, the swirling water pulling only loose silt across the lakebed. Danny thrashed to stay afloat, treading water with tired, untrained legs. He couldn't use his arms, the handcuffs stifling his mobility.

He could see the biters now, stumbling toward the lakeside; he panicked. Heaving a deep breath Danny plunged himself underwater, his eyes pinched tightly shut. Water flooded past his ears, flowing smoothly and dragging his body downstream with the current. It was rather peaceful under the water. He felt like he could stay here forever.

Danny frowned. It really felt like he _could_ stay underwater. He couldn't feel the burning in his chest and throat that signalled the need for air. There was nothing – it was like he didn't need to breathe. He sat at the bottom of the lake for a few more minutes, counting by hundreds in his head, following the swaying of the water as it continued to lull him downstream.

Curious, Danny gulped down a mouthful of water. Then another. It tasted like dirt, but the need for air still didn't reach him. The lake was becoming shallow now, the water levels reaching only inches above his head instead of feet.

Kicking himself off the bottom, he breached the water and oxygen filled his lungs. He heaved a gasp, feeling like he had been punched in the chest as he sucked down as much air as his cold-ridden body could handle. The soft wind bit at his exposed skin, sending a tremor of goose-bumps crawling in their wake.

Danny dragged his waterlogged body to the shore, the silt had hardened to cracked mud and Danny didn't hesitate to flop his body against the earth. His body ached and his mind was frazzled. He stared up at the setting sky in wonderment as pinks and oranges flew by. Had he really been in the water for that long? The sun was slowly drying his cold skin and Danny smiled. For the first time, something was going right.

He didn't know when he fell asleep but when his eyes opened next the sun was already high in the sky. His body ached like he had run a week-long marathon in the span of a day and he couldn't help the deep groan as he pulled himself up. The mud had left a negative of his body and he could only guess how much dirt caked his back.

The stream had swept him into a shallow basin, surrounded by steep walls of overgrowth. The trees growing on the hillside were thin and flimsy, and Danny questioned if they would be able to support even his meagre weight. He hauled himself to his feet slowly, the shackles squelching with brittle mud, scratching uncomfortably at the skin underneath.

Snatching onto the nearest branch, Danny carefully hauled himself up. The tree creaked and Danny reached for the grass clumps, shoving himself higher onto the tree-trunk. The handcuffs didn't allow him to reach further than half a foot, it was a long and arduous process but he managed to make it nearly halfway up the cliff-side before he heard the scream from below.

Danny gave a sudden jolt, losing his grip on the dirt-ridden grass, the thin trunk he was standing on slipped out of the earth, roots and all, and with a fantastic scream, Danny fell over ten feet. He landed in the shallow pool, sucking water into his lungs with a pained gurgle – there was no doubt that there were going to be bruising. The tree that had snapped had scraped his side, tearing off the first few layers of his skin making it trickle blood sluggishly.

Something heavy kicked him in his kidney and Danny howled in pain. He shoved himself forward, snatching his sore side and turned to the girl who had fallen over him.

"Watch it!" he snarled.

But the girl ignored him. With wide, panicked eyes she flung herself away, scrambling to her feet and disappearing into the underbrush without a second glance.

"What?" Danny said before he felt the pressure of a hand grasp itself into his hair. He was slammed forward into the water as the biter fell on top of him, dead fingers scrambling for a grip-hold. The snarls were muffled as water flooded his ears and he felt hands trying to grip at him through the water. Frustrated, he turned his torso in a sharp twist that Danny was sure he would never have been able to execute on land, and kicked his legs off the silt-covered floor and shoved his face out of the water for much-needed air. The biter snarled just mere inches away from his face, making Danny scream in fright, shoving his manacled hands forward. The thin chain caught between the biter's teeth and he flinched as it ignored the way its gums bit into the metal, sawing through the rotting flesh of the corners of its lips.

Danny pushed back harder as the biter groaned, dull nails trying to break through the skin of his shoulders as they grasped for his neck. With a growl of his own Danny pressed the chain tauter into the biter's mouth, watching with a sickened fascination as the metal slipped right through, sawing through the flesh to resemble a Glasgow smile. The chain was tight enough around the biter's skull that Danny could pinch the other manacle with one hand, the biter now resembling less than a broken ventriloquist doll, but Danny shoved harder, forcing the biter to slip back into the water. Danny clambered on top of it, propelling the handcuffs deeper into the biter's skull. The chain dug further in until finally, the top of the biters head slipped clean off, sending a plume of reddish-black blood toward Danny's hovering face.

Jumping back, Danny looked at his hands in horror. The blood was slipping off them in rivulets of water, but they still felt dirty. It was one thing for that weird green gunk to destroy the biters, but he had never thought he would have to do it with his own hands. He didn't know he could…

Deep welts surrounded his wrists and his right hand held a rather nasty slice where the cuff had dug in too far. His blood was tinged a sickly green that appeared near-iridescent beside the biter's. Wading out of the shallows Danny stared down at his sodden bandage and jeans, giving his soaked shoes an annoyed shake.

Glancing up at the ravine again he began to map out a new path to reach the top. He would have to take it slower, his back ached from the fall and his side hurt where the girl had kicked him.

 _The girl._

Danny swivelled on the spot. There was a doll lying not too far away from where he had landed, with red yarn hair and button eyes. It would have been cute if it wasn't so filthy.

"Little girl!" Danny cupped his hands to his mouth, "Little girl! Where are you?"

The ravine was silent. Not even the birds were chirping anymore. Danny shuffled his feet around the sand, cocking his head in hopes of hearing any sort of reply.

A shrill scream met his ears.

With a curse, Danny tore his way through the underbrush. The shrieking continued, louder this time and Danny forced his legs to work faster. He barraged his way through a tight copse of trees only to halt just as suddenly. A biter was already leaning over the girl from where she had tripped, she beat weakly at the biter's head that had clasped onto her shoulder with its teeth. Her shrieks quickly turning to gurgles as blood spluttered at the corners of her mouth.

The biter had a knife lodged in its back; with only a second of hesitation, Danny leapt forward, wrenching the blade from its spine and shoving it into its skull. The biter collapsed on top of the girl, who gave a pained whimper, eyes beginning to close. Danny pocketed the knife, rushing to her side.

"Little girl!" he cried, clasping a hand over the wound to staunch the flow. There was already so much blood.

The girl burst into a torrent of tears, "Mummy!" she cried, "Mummy!"

Danny gave a gentle shushing sound like his mother used to whenever he was hurt, "Hey, hey. It's okay. What's your name?"

"S-Sophia," the girl hiccupped through tears, before bursting out, "I want m-m-my mummy!"

The blood was still leaking furiously through Danny's fingers and he grimaced, "We'll find your mum, okay. We'll find her."

Sophia shook her head furiously. She could barely hear him through her shock, "It hurts! It really hurts! _Mummy!_ "

 _First, you get the bite._

Danny snatched the bottom of his jeans, tearing off a large chunk with strength that surprised him. He began to ravel the cloth around her shoulder, marvelling how similar his own bite was.

"Here, this'll stop the flow. Then we can move to find your mum, okay, Sophia?"

Sophia gave a trembling nod, her bottom lip quivering. Danny looped the knife through his belt and helped the girl slowly to her feet.

"Your hair has white in it," she said dazed, gesturing at her forehead, "Right there. Why is it white?"

Danny shrugged, flicking the lock of white hair from his eyes and slipping his manacled hands under his legs, "Dunno, just have it." He knelt on the ground facing away from her, thankful for being double-jointed, "Hop on."

Sophia clambered onto his back slowly, and Danny nearly keeled under the extra weight, but he forced himself to his feet, his handcuffs chiming cheerily, and carefully made his way back to the ravine wall. Sophia clung to him and he could hear her sniffling into his neck.

Danny looked up at the cliff-side he just fell down from, "This is our only way out. The water is too deep for us to travel through safely. I haven't got any hands so I'm going to need your help, Sophia."

Feeling the nod more than seeing it, Danny made his way to one of the lower rock formations. Leaning his weight forward he pushed himself up, carefully balancing as he stepped higher onto the shallow crevices. His feet threatened to slip more than once and he was thankful for Sophia's quick reflexes when she reached out to grasp a nearby branch or grass clump, stopping them from tumbling down the thirty-foot cliff.

It was a slow and exhausting process; night time had nearly fallen when they eventually made it to the top. Danny was panting hard, his ankles ached from their lack of dexterity and the immense pressure they had been under. With a last heave, Danny shoved the two of them over the lip of the cliff, nearly sending him face-planting into the grass.

"We did it!" he wheezed, "Sophia, we did it! We made it! Sophia? _Sophia!_ "

Danny looked over his uninjured shoulder at the girl, her chin resting gently on it. Her skin was sallow and her eyes half closed as soft breaths puffed against Danny's cheek.

Hurriedly lowering Sophia to the ground Danny stepped back over the chain between his handcuffs, reaching for the little girl. Her short-cropped blonde hair was glue to her face as sweat trickled down it.

 _Then you get the fever._

"Sophia?"

Danny stared down at the little girl in horror. Her eyelids fluttered as she murmured out, "Mummy?"

He shoved a sodden piece of hair out of her face, "We'll find your mum, Sophia, I promise, okay? But you have to stay awake, yeah?"

Sophia gave a rattling breath and Danny watched terrified as her eyes began to shut.

"Sophia?" he whispered, "Sophia! Keep your eyes open! How are we supposed to find your mum if you aren't able to see her?"

Sophia's lips barely moved and Danny had to move closer, "It… it hurts."

Danny swallowed thickly, "I know it hurts. I know. But we gotta keep going if— Sophia?"

He snatched her arm when she didn't respond. The makeshift bandage on her shoulder was soaked through, unable to hold any more blood and Danny pressed his fingers to her wrist, trying to find a pulse. With a growl, he shoved his head against her ribcage, refusing to breathe, waiting for the tell-tale sound of a heartbeat. But there was nothing.

 _Then you die._

Danny fell back on his haunches, letting his head drop against his chest. Sophia lay next to him, looking nearly serene. Snatching the knife by his side, Danny angrily plunged it into the ground, again and again. He yelled and cried and screamed, stabbing at the earth over and over until his muscles begged for him to stop.

He sat there, panting. The forest was peaceful; birds twittered away in the treetops and frogs croaked down in the valley. It seemed like he was the odd one out; angry, terrified… _alone_. He didn't belong.

 _Then you come back… as one of them._

He stared at Sophia lying limp on the ground and heaved a terrific sigh. He knew what he had to do. There was no way around it. Yanking the knife out of the grass, he crawled over to the little girl. He gently placed a hand on the side of her head, carefully lifting it as he held the knife at the ready—

This felt wrong. Like he was killing her himself, but he'd made a promise to Sophia. He was going to get her back to her mother, and he wasn't going to give the poor woman the remains of a monster.

With that thought, Danny gripped the base of Sophia's head tighter and clenched his eyes shut. The knife pierced her skull like butter, sliding up into her brain from the hilt and Danny nearly threw up at the sound. He wrenched the blade from Sophia and tossed it as far as he could, not able to bear the sight of it. Nausea fell over him and he stumbled to the cliff edge and brought back up everything that was in his stomach. He continued to throw up until he had nothing but bile burning its way up his throat.

Danny wheezed in pain, wiping his mouth on his wrist before turning back to Sophia. She looked the same – unharmed, carefree – and Danny felt a little better about his choice. He carefully slipped his cuffed hands back under his legs and went about positioning Sophia onto his back again. It was hard work, as the girl was literal dead-weight, but eventually, he was finally able to slide her on. His knees buckled slightly under the effort, yet he trudged forward into the depths of the forest.

"I'll find your mother, Sophia. I promise."

…

It's a rather dramatic first chapter, I'll admit. It's not the most cheerful story either which makes me feel slightly put-out, because I love happy stories as a whole, but I wanted to challenge myself at making a dystopia that hopefully isn't overly dramatic or angsty. We'll see.


	2. Jog

**Chapter 2: Jog**

Jaywalking: _(intransitive) to cross a street at a place other than a regulated crossing or in a heedless and reckless manner._

…

Danny heaved Sophia higher up on his weakened shoulders. They had been walking for days, barely able to stop as they cut through the forest. He was exhausted. There was no time to sleep, his stomach gurgled loudly every few steps and his throat was parched – his tongue more like sandpaper than flesh. He stumbled over another root, nearly falling head over heels as Sophia's head lolled on his shoulder.

He could see a clearing in the distance through the trees, a wide field of yellow straw spread across its length and a large barn sat neatly in the centre of it, an RV and a double-storey house not far behind. It was his first sighting of humanity in half a week and he hobbled toward it with glee.

Edging around the last of the sparse growth of forest, Danny dragged his legs forward. The handcuffs bit into his wrists, not for the first time, the sun was hot on his back and made it difficult to see. His eyes pinched tightly as he wandered forward, half-hunched over by Sophia's weight. He could hear yelling in the distance, but they were too far away for him to understand – not that he would have made sense of it anyway, his mind was too delirious to see anything but the path in front of him.

There was more yelling and Danny lifted his head. Half a dozen people were heading his way, another was stationed on top of the RV with… was that a rifle?

The group was making their way over, trampling through the long grasses, armed with knives and guns. Danny stopped in his tracks, too tired to walk anymore.

"Help me, please!" he called out, voice cracking under the strain. The group halted and stared in surprise and Danny called out again, "Please! I-I need—"

The sound of the gunshot ricocheted throughout the clearing before Danny felt a sharp pain besides his right eye.

Screams fill the air and everything went black.

…

"You 'wake?" a gravelly voice said. Danny felt something incessantly tap at his side and he groaned in agony. His head pounded so hard it felt like someone was jabbing it with a rusty pitchfork, but his throat was no longer dry. Peeking an eye open he was surprised to find himself lying on a wood floor, dust motes tickling his nose. There was somebody next to him.

Danny's blue eyes swivelled in their sockets, struggling to focus on the man beside him. He was older than him by a few decades, dressed in a leather vest with short-cropped hair, a scraggly case of five o'clock shadow and narrow, beady eyes. He wasn't smiling.

His stomach tossed uncomfortably as he struggled to sit up, only to be pushed back down by the bikie.

"Doc says ya shouldn't move much. Migh' end up hurtin' yerself s'more," the man said.

Danny ignored him, shoving the arm off and heaved himself upright to lean heavily against a wall. The man huffed but didn't stop him, instead taking a seat on top of a disused barrel, peering through a gap in an old wooden door. Light streamed through the crevices of the room and Danny concluded that he was in some sort of tool shed.

"Where'd ya find her?" the man crossed his arms, looking pointedly at him.

"Find who?" Danny was surprised to find his voice was so rough, like it hadn't been used in a long time.

"Sophia."

"Sophia?" Danny swivelled around on the spot, arms flailing, ignoring the ache in his head. "Where is she?"

The man looked surprised for a moment before his face settled into cool disinterest, "Whazzit to ya?"

Danny was having none of it. Gripping the wall, he hauled himself to his feet in a surprising show of strength. His legs struggled to hold his weight and his arms trembled, but he stood upright, marching rather bow-legged and snatched at the front of the man's vest, " _Where is she?_ " he hissed.

The man snorted, shoving Danny off, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground if he hadn't reached out and caught a sheep's hook from above, "What does some dead girl even matter?" he barked out angrily.

"Because I promised her I'd help her!"

The man turned furious eyes on Danny as he roared, "She was going to die anyway, what was the point? We saw the bite!"

"Because I screwed up! If I was just a little faster I could have saved her!" Danny yelled just as loudly.

The man stared at him for a long time, unmoving before he kicked himself off the barrel, "Whatever," he snarled, "Girl gave 'erself her own countdown the momen' she took off."

He yanked open the tool shed door and Danny raised a hand to block the sudden burst of light before the man slammed it shut again.

Adrenaline escaped him and Danny collapsed on his knees, flinging his arms out to catch himself. He stared at his fingers as dust swirled around them like a tragic ballet. His wrists were wrapped in bandages and he noted for the first time that his hands were free of their cuffs. He lifted one to feel strapping tightly wound around his head; his temple was rather tender as his fingers ghosted across the spot.

Shimmying himself back to his wall, Danny let his eyes fall shut. They had Sophia. He didn't know where, and he didn't know if he would be able to get her back. He bit back an angry curse at the bikie who had locked him up in the near-darkness, letting his head fall back against the wood panelling. There was nothing but the sound of his own breathing as he sucked in the musty air and Danny would have fallen asleep again if he hadn't heard the tell-tale crunch of feet on gravel making their way toward him just a few moments later.

The door creaked open and Danny squinted open an eye to see a man in a filthy button-down step inside. A taller, bulkier man followed, limping and sneering down at Danny. The bikie stood some little ways behind them, staring uncaringly out at the scenery.

"How're you feeling?" the first man asked, crouching down to Danny's level.

"Fine," Danny gritted out.

The man looked up at his larger comrade, sharing a look with him before turning back to Danny.

"What's your name?"

"What's yours?" Danny asked, snarky.

The man chuckled, "The name's Rick Grimes, this here is Shane and over there is Daryl. We're here to help."

Danny raised the eyebrow not covered in bandaging, "You lock everyone you help up in tool sheds?"

Daryl snorted from the doorway. Danny glanced over to see a dangerous-looking crossbow resting in his arms.

Rick shrugged with a small grin of his own, "It's just a precaution. We can't be too careful nowadays."

Danny gave the room another glance and sniffed, "No, you can't."

"He asked you what your name was, kid," Shane spat, his hands curling into fists as he stepped threateningly toward him.

"It's Danny. Danny Fenton," he said resignedly.

A knock on the door distracted him and an old man dressed in suspenders walked proudly past Daryl who rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Hershel," Rick nodded in greeting. Hershel didn't nod back, striding over to where Danny sat.

"How's your head, son?"

"Fine, I guess. It still hurts from whatever hit me."

Hershel huffed, throwing a glower over his shoulder at the others, "It seems that Rick and his friends ignored my request to leave those that were sick to me and judged you too quickly."

Rick looked down in embarrassment, "One of our group members mistook you for a walker. Clipped you with a bullet. You were lucky, an inch over and you would have been dead."

"Or unlucky. An inch over I wouldn't have been shot at all," Danny sneered. Daryl coughed back a laugh.

Hershel leant over and began unwinding the bandage around his head, "You seem to be healing rather nicely. No sign of infection – looks like a clean graze. You were dehydrated too – we had to hook you up to an IV for the night; get you stable again. But if you keep your fluids up and don't irritate your wounds you could be on your way in a couple of days. Once you're feeling better I'll let you walk around. Try and get some strength back. Now I warn you, two days is all you get. I don't do charity cases, and I refused to be pushed around by anybody else. We'll give you some water and food, but then you have to get out. Same with the rest of you," Hershel glanced at Rick before rebinding the bandages.

"But I need to leave now," Danny argued, trying to duck out from under Hershel's nimble fingers, "I have to find Sophia's mum… and my family! I promised—"

Rick, still crouched beside Danny, placed a comforting hand on his non-bandaged shoulder, "Danny. Sophia is with her mother now, she was one of our group before she disappeared."

"W-what?" Danny spluttered out.

"We're holding a funeral for her tomorrow morning. You're welcome to come."

"S-Sophia and her m-m-mum?"

Danny felt an overwhelming amount of emotion well up in his chest before a gurgle of laughter burst out. He laughed, long and hard before the tears finally caught up and he was sobbing. He didn't know what he was feeling; happiness, sadness, guilt, compassion. They all crashed down inside of him like a tidal wave and he curled his legs up into himself, shoving his head onto his knees and desperately clinging to his shoulders, his body wracked with hiccups and laughter.

He didn't hear the others leave, and he cried late into the night. He was pretty sure he was happy. Maybe.

…

Another sharp nudge woke Danny the next morning; he grunted in a prehistoric manner. Cracking an eye open he looked up to find the glaring face of Shane.

"Get up."

His bones ached as he slowly stood to move, but they didn't shake like they had yesterday. Shane dogged his footsteps as he shuffled his way out of the tool shed into a boundless front yard. There was a tree drooping sadly above a large pile of dirt heaped off to the side. A small, narrow pit had been dug out of the ground by the roots, barely five feet long by two feet wide. Danny swallowed thickly as Shane shoved him toward to dirt mound. People he didn't recognise milled around the area. An old man stood by the RV with a blonde woman stationed on top, a pretty brunette was talking solemnly to a man in a baseball cap and a woman with short-cropped silver hair stood around aimlessly, looking lost and lonely. Daryl leant against the tree, purposely not making eye contact with anyone.

As Danny stepped into the clearing the lost woman looked up and rushed at him. Her arms flew around him as she tucked her head into his shoulder. Danny, shocked, patted her on the back softly. Wetness dripped onto his bandages and he could hear her whimpering quietly.

The woman pulled back, rubbing at her red-rimmed eyes, "Sorry," she muttered, giving Danny a wan smile.

"It's okay," Danny replied, "Were you… Are you Sophia's mother?"

The woman gave a soft nod when Rick strolled over, placing a hand on her arm.

"It's time, Carol."

Carol snatched Danny again, giving him a hug that made his ribs ache, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Danny wheezed.

The funeral was a blur. He stood off to the side beside a pretty blonde girl a couple of years older than him as the group mourned over Sophia's lowered body and symbolically over a grave for a man called Otis. Two rock columns were erected, built stone by stone, underneath the tree and Danny watched from a distance as Carol disappeared behind the house, hand clenched to her heart.

Shane stomped over, as intimidating as ever and roughly bunched a hand up into Danny's bandages, dragging him along, "Alright, you've had your pity-party, now get back in the shed."

"Hey! That wasn't part of the deal!" Danny snarled, shoving at Shane's meaty hands, "Hershel said I could leave if I wanted!"

"Shane! Let him go!" Rick cried. The old man from by the RV and a man with dark skin and a bald head, both dressed in casual shirts, followed, concerned expressions on their faces.

"Why should I?" Shane asked, shaking Danny roughly, sending a sharp pang through his head, "We don't know anything about him – he could be a spy for all we know."

"Who could I possibly be spying for, you idiot?" Danny slurred out.

The old man spoke up, "Shane, this isn't right. He's just a boy…"

"This doesn't involve you, Dale! Why don't you go back to your little toy truck and actually fix something for a change!" Shane shouted.

The bald man stepped forward, "C'mon, man, that's not right. Give the kid a break—"

"Last time we gave anybody a break we nearly ended up trapped inside a madman's lab about to be blown into a thousand tiny pieces!"

"T-Dog," Rick raised a hand before the other man could counter, turning to Shane, "Look, we might not know anything about Danny yet, but we will… He brought Sophia back to us—"

"Not before driving a knife into her head," Shane cut through.

"I didn't have a choice!" Danny yelled. Shane twisted him into a headlock.

"Shut up, you little pip-squeak!"

"Hey! Lemme go!" Danny tried to elbow the man in the ribs, but his grip was too tight. Danny's sight was becoming fuzzy.

"Shane!" Rick sounded furious, "Remember, this is Hershel's farm. We are guests here and he said Danny could stay."

"Oh, so we're supposed to just let the kid shove a knife into our skulls while we're sleeping too?" a voice called out. A blonde woman strode forward, hair pulled back in a ponytail with large blue eyes and sharp cheekbones.

"Wouldn't blame 'im if he tried, considerin' ya tried t' shove a bullet into his, Andrea!" Daryl called out from under the tree a few yards away, favouring his right side.

Andrea grimaced but didn't speak again.

"Now, Daryl, there's no need for that. That was an accident," Dale tried to pacify. Daryl snorted and looked away.

Rick stared at Shane with sharp eyes, "Let him go."

Shane didn't budge, and Danny was beginning to have issues breathing as his massive forearm threatened to cut off his air supply. Finally, Shane sent a disgusted look in Rick's direction and released him, nearly shoving him to the ground. Danny picked himself up, gasping, and sent him his own filthy, wavering glare.

Shane kicked a tractor tyre angrily before he set off toward a copse of trees on the far-side of the farm, Andrea following shortly after. The group watched them leave, T-Dog helping Danny stand.

"Y'all right?" Rick asked.

Danny nodded, "Yeah," his voice was raspy but strong as he rubbed his bound chest, "Yeah, I'm good."

"What happened to your shoulder?" Rick asked, eyes flittering toward the bindings.

Danny panicked, "Dog bite," he lied quickly. He didn't want another repeat with the soldiers, "It's not serious. Nothing to worry about."

The creak of rickety stairs distracted Danny and he saw Hershel making his way over to the group, "Danny, son, how about you come here so I can check up on you? You too, Daryl. I want to see if those stitches in your side are still tight."

Daryl rolled his eyes and trundled up into the house. Danny hesitated only briefly, "Um… okay."

The farmhouse looked like he expected; white-washed panelling and antique furniture littered the rooms, with traditional knick-knacks sitting on the fireplace mantle. It was nice, in a simple way. Danny spied the dining room where tables had been shoved together and mismatched chairs squeezed into any free space. A guitar was propped up in the corner.

Hershel stood in the centre of the room with Daryl, who had lifted the edge of his shirt to reveal a short row of stitches. The older man prodded them gently before giving Daryl a sharp nod, "Try not to move around too much anymore. Some of the sutures have already started to loosen – if you do any more damage to them I'm gonna have to restitch them, and I don't want to be wasting any more anaesthetic on stupid mistakes."

"What happened?" Danny asked as Daryl twisted for the good doctor, revealing another set of stitches on the other side – like something had been lanced right through him. There were other marks too. Old, malformed scar tissue peeking out from what little the shirt bared.

"It's stupid," Daryl grunted out, "Damn horse threw me from a cliff when I was out tracking Sophia – landed on one of my arrows. Had to climb all the way to the top again – nearly lost my dang crossbow in the water."

"It went clean through. Luckily the wood didn't splinter inside of him, otherwise we would have a high chance of infection." Hershel nodded, letting Daryl drop his shirt into place.

The man scoffed, reaching down to grab his vest, slipping the leather on, "Didn't matter. Girl ended up dead anyway. Waste o' my time – all I got was a damn doll."

Danny and Hershel watch Daryl storm out of the house before the old man motioned for Danny to follow him.

They passed through the living room into a bedroom. A boy a couple of years younger than Danny lay there looking rather bored, "Hey Hershel. Who's this?"

"Carl, this is Danny. You'll be keeping an eye on him for a while. At least until he's fully recovered."

The boy blinked up at him. Danny supposed he probably looked more like a mummy than a person with the number of bandages wrapped around him, "What happened to you?"

"Got shot," Danny shrugged.

Carl gestured at his stomach almost proudly, "Me too."

Danny didn't know what to say to that, lowering himself into the chair beside the bed carefully.

Hershel shuffled his way over to a chest of drawers, pulling out a familiar black wallet, "Here you go, boy. We found this tucked away in your trousers after we got you back here. Thought you might want to keep it."

Hesitantly, Danny took the proffered piece of leather and unfolded it. Tucked inside were a few dollar bills, an old movie ticket and a photo of his family. Tugging the photo out of its clear plastic sleeve, Danny stared at it fondly. Jazz was next to him, a comforting arm around his shoulder as she smiled at the camera. His mother and father stood behind them, beaming happily with obvious love.

Danny took a rattling breath – the photo was hypnotising, filled with false promises of what could be…

But his family wasn't here. He didn't even really know if they were alive.

Hershel placed a hand on Danny's shoulder making him jump, "May I?" he gestured at the bandages.

Danny's tongue was swollen in his mouth, so he jerked his head in acceptance. Hershel went about silently removing the strips of cloth, either clucking his tongue or giving throaty appraisal at each new cut or bruise he discovered.

"Who are they?" Carl asked, trying to lean over the side of the bed to see past Danny's shoulder. Danny forfeited the picture for him to see.

"It's my family; my dad, Jack, my mum, Maddie, and my sister, Jazz."

Carl stared at the picture in childish curiosity before asking, "Are they dead?"

Danny flinched both at the question and at Hershel pressing too heavily on his temple. He sat for a moment, thinking hard.

"No. No, they're not dead," he concluded. He'd just _know_ if they were.

Carl furrowed his brow, "If they're not dead, then where are they?"

"I don't know, but I'll find them. Hopefully, they're back home in Illinois."

Hershel stretched his back, "You're recovering fast. You head definitely needs at least another day, but your wrists and shoulder should be near fixed for the most part by tomorrow morning if you don't irritate them. Although you're going to have some rather nasty scars."

"Battle wounds. Cool," Carl murmured enviously.

A knock came from the door and Danny glanced up to see Rick standing there, leaning against the frame with his thumbs weaved through his belt loops, "Hey."

Danny nodded a hello, not sure what to say to the man. Rick took it as an invitation and shuffled further into the room, taking the seat closest to his son.

"I wanted to apologise for what happened out there. With Shane. He— he's been a little bit antsy lately, with everything that's been going on."

Danny opened his mouth to speak, but Rick raised a hand with a tired look as if this wasn't the first time he had had to apologise for his friend's behaviour, "And I know that doesn't make up for what he did – but he had the best intentions. We don't know you, and nowadays strangers can be just as dangerous as walkers."

"Walkers? Is that what you call them?"

Rick nodded, "You had a different name for them?"

"Biters, lame-brains, flesh-feasters… Whatever came to mind really."

Rick bobbed his head again before pointing at Danny's shoulder, "And that bite mark? You said it was a dog that did it?"

Danny swallowed. He _sucked_ at lying, "Y-yeah. Broke into the wrong yard when I was looking for supplies in Arkansas. Must have been hungry."

"Arkansas? That's over 500 miles from here."

"He's from Illinois, dad," Carl chimed in helpfully.

"Really now? That's twice as far. What brings you down to the south?" Rick reminded Danny of a police officer who had visited his middle school once when someone had set off fireworks in the boy's bathroom. Inquisitive and straight-forward – it was intimidating.

Danny glared at the suspicious tone in the man's voice, "We were visiting my aunt – my family and me. The place got overrun and we got separated. I was heading to Knoxville in Tennessee when I got picked up by some army dudes. They were heading to Fort Benning."

"And the handcuffs?"

"I wasn't as willing to go with them as they liked," he didn't have to lie about that part at least.

"How'd you end up in the woods then?"

"Same way I guess you guys did. Got overrun on the highway by those 'walkers'. Thought I'd be safer in the woods."

"What about the army men? What happened to them?"

Danny shrugged, "I dunno. I think they all got bit – I saw three go down… the rest…"

"And Sophia?"

Danny swallowed thickly, glancing out the window that overlooked the front yard where the graves sat, "I— I washed up in some riverbed, I don't know how far it is from here… We were attacked by walkers. Next thing I know I hear screaming, and… and…"

Danny slammed his jaw shut angrily, the tendon in his throat pulsing in anger at the memory – _he had been_ _so close. She could have lived._

"Okay, I get the rest," Rick said resignedly in his deep southern twang, reaching over to pat Danny's uninjured shoulder. He gave a smile to his son as he stood and said to Danny, "You best rest up. The others will want to meet you properly, make sure themselves that you're not a threat."

He had nearly stepped out of the room when he turned to face him one more time, "Thank you, by the way. It might not have been the outcome we'd been hoping for, but we can all rest easier with Sophia back."

Hershel cleared his throat once Rick had disappeared.

"My step-son, Shawn, is ill at the moment but I don't think he would mind if we loaned you some clothes of his, considering most of yours seem to be missing. You look to be of similar size," Hershel offered Danny a plain white shirt and jeans, "Bathroom's right through there. Take a bath while you're at it… for all our sakes. And try and keep those bandages dry."

Danny thanked him and headed into the bathroom. Stripping himself of his clothes he reached out and twisted on the taps of the bath, water gushing into the cream tub. The water burned at his skin as he dipped a toe, but the pain was welcoming. The bath quickly filled up and he shut off the taps, sinking into the scalding water, ignoring the way the bandages quickly became sodden. He didn't rise for air again until his fingers began to prune, and Danny was once again shocked at how long he could hold his breath. It was like he didn't really need air – it seemed more out of habit than necessity.

Picking up the bar of soap, Danny scrubbed at his skin, removing days of dirt, grime, guts and blood. The water quickly turned a murky brown and Danny had to refill the tub twice before he felt properly clean. His skin now resembled a boiled lobster's and stung, but he grinned happily, emptying near a quarter of the shampoo bottle into his hands and scrubbed at his skull, foam threatened to fall into his eyes.

Emptying the bath a final time, Danny patted himself dry with a spare towel hanging behind the door and donned Hershel's step-son's clothes. They were rather loose, Danny having to stab a new hole through the belt to keep the trousers on his narrow hips. The shirt hung loosely at the collar, baring the ugly puckered teeth-marks that nearly encase his entire clavicle.

He wasn't surprised to find Carl still in the room, legs hanging over the side of the bed while he kicked at the air in a bored manner. He still held Danny's photo in his hands, staring at it. He looked up when Danny entered the room.

"Wow! You have white hair? I couldn't tell from under the mud!"

Danny shrugged and Carl seemed to tamper down his curiosity about the streak and instead asked, "Are you really from Illinois?"

Danny grinned at Carl's curiosity, "Yep."

"I've never been out of Georgia. What's it like?"

He shrugged, taking a seat next to Carl, "It's not as hot as here, and we usually get snow by December. And there's more people – I live in a city, Amity Park, it's just an hour out from Chicago. It's nice, and they've got skyscrapers nearly as tall as New York! Dad always said that—"

He stopped. Think about his dad made him feel guilty. Here he was, freshly washed, dressed and bandaged when his family could be struggling to even find shelter for the night.

"I— I need to go…"

Danny stood up and strode out the door, ignoring Carl's spluttering who hobbled to his feet, following after him. "Danny! Didn't you hear what Hershel said? You still need a full day before you're better! I'm supposed to be watching you!"

Danny heaved an irritated sigh, twisting on his heel to face Carl, " _Look_. I know what Hershel said, but—! Do you hear that?"

Gunshots echoed across the yard, followed by yelling. Danny shoved open the screen door and ran outside, Carl dogging behind. He spotted Rick and Shane yelling angrily over the corpse of a biter. Hershel was on the ground, kneeling next to the body of what Danny supposed was once a woman; the rest of Hershel's family and Rick's friends stood nearby as Shane screamed at who Danny was told was apparently his best friend.

" _Enough_ risking our lives for a little girl who is already _gone!_ _Enough_ living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! _Enough!_ Rick, it ain't like it was before!" Shane paced the length of the yard. His eyes were wild as he threw his arms about him, "Now if y'all wanna live, if you wanna survive, you gotta fight for it!I'm talking about _fight – right here, right now!"_

"Shane, no!" Rick cried, a biter hanging from the end of an animal catch pole, its blue coveralls stained with its rotting flesh as it tried to bite anyone within reach, growling and hissing through malformed lips. Shane ignored him and was charging for the barn doors. Rick begged Hershel to take the pole, but the old man was in a state of shock, staring blankly down at the dead biter's body.

Shane had reached the doors and hefted a pick axe lying nearby over his shoulder, slamming it over and over into the thick chain that was barring the doors shut; Danny didn't think as he tore away from Carl and sprinted after Shane, running faster than he ever had before. Shane barely had time to flinch as Danny rammed his minor weight into the much larger man's side, sending them off-kilter and tumbling into the dirt. Danny tried to wrench the pick axe out of Shane's surprised hands, but he held on, his mouth twisting into a snarl.

" _You!_ "

Shane snatched Danny up by the scruff of his shirt, dragging him to his feet. Danny cried out in frustration, trying to wriggle free of Shane's grip, but he was too strong.

"You want _proof_ , Rick? Is that what this is going to take to accept the truth? To get that old man to realise that these things are _already dead?_ Well here's your god-damn proof!"

In an amazing feat of strength, Shane lifted the pickaxe again and brought it down on the lock, snapping it, and with one hand shoved the heavy barricade plank off its supports.

"Shane! Don't do this!" Rick cried out.

Shane banged on the barn doors, gripping Danny tighter, and coaxed, "Come on! Out you get!"

"Let me go!" Danny screamed, kicking furiously at Shane's shin, but the man dodged out of the way.

"My pleasure!" Shane yelled and shoved Danny through the narrow crack in the doors before slamming it shut behind him. Danny heard screams come from the group outside as the world went dark.

A sharp snarl made Danny flinch and he jumped back. A burst of rotten-smelling air rushed past his face and Danny was certain that he had narrowly missed a biter.

He hurried to the doors, banging the palms of his hands against the wood, "Hey! Let me out! Let me out!"

He could hear the others yelling from the other side, but Shane's voice was closest, blocking his exit. Danny ducked out of the way as he heard another biter, only to end up in the grasp of another. Hands groped at his arms and legs and Danny nearly tumbled over in his mad rush to get away, edging deeper and deeper into the barn, his mind reeling.

His shoulder clipped a support post and Danny cried out in pain as splinter-ridden wood bruised his spine. The sound of scraping feet and rattling breath was edging closer far too quickly for his liking.

' _I'm dead, I'm done!'_ Danny's whole body was shaking. He was about to keel right over on the spot, ' _I can't see anything! It's too dark! I_ — _I don't—!_ '

"Don't touch me!"

A burst of green filled his vision and Danny screamed. Then, suddenly, he could see everything in clear definition. The biters that had turned to him quickly slithered away into the farthest corners of the barn. Danny watched amazed as they stumbled back, arms falling by their sides and jaws slack. The bridge of his nose tingled like he had to sneeze every time he blinked and green still flooded his peripheral vision, but he had never seen so clearly in his life – if he hadn't been thrown into the pitch black he would have sworn the midday sun was baring down on him.

He took a step forward and the closest biter reeled back as if electrocuted, shuffling over to its companions by the far wall. His confusion was only drowned out by his never-ending fear and Danny didn't stop as he bolted for the barn doors, barging his way through…

Only to be met with the barrel-ends of four guns.

Danny quickly lifted his hands in surrender, causing T-Dog, Andrea and Daryl to lower their guns, staring at him in stupefaction. Shane didn't move, handgun at the ready.

"What's your _problem?_ " Danny screamed, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Shane! Put the gun down!" Rick ordered. Danny heard Lori, Rick's wife, call Carl to safety behind her.

Shane glared at his friend for less than a second before turning his gun on Rick's trapped biter, the bullet lodged into its brain and sent it tumbling to the ground. Rick instantly dropped the catch pole and strode forward, placing a hand on top of Shane's gun, forcing him to lower it, "That's enough."

Danny heard growls emerge from the barn before a hand grasped his wrist, tugging him away. Daryl dragged him to the far side of the yard by Lori, Carl, and Hershel's youngest daughter, Beth.

"Ya good?" Daryl asked.

Danny didn't think he would be able to talk without throwing up whatever meagre amount of food was in his stomach, simply nodding instead.

Letting his wrist go, Daryl gave him a reassuring nod of his own before striding toward T-Dog and Andrea.

The biters flooded out of the barn like fish trying to escape their bullet-ridden barrel, and the group with what Danny could only describe as military efficiency began to shoot at the biters, forming a line and taking them down one after the other. Danny flinched with each of Hershel's oldest daughter, Maggie's, hiccupping breaths and Danny swore he saw an older woman who once may have looked like Beth fall with a shot to the neck. The Greenes wept furiously as each body fell and Danny was overwrought at the idea of how he would feel if it was his own friends and family.

With a final gunshot the yard fell silent. Bodies littered the entrance like a Jackson Pollock painting and Danny felt physically ill at the sight. Then, from the depths of the barn came a soft gurgle; a hand crept around the edge of the door and the soulless body of a little girl shuffled out. Carol gave an almighty cry from behind Danny and he instantly knew why – the little girl was the same age as Sophia; with long brown hair, pale skin and a tall, thin build. There was a nasty bite on the girl's leg and the skin around her milky eyes was beginning to decompose.

Nobody moved, reeling at the image in front of them as she shuffled forward, carelessly stepping over dead bodies as she made her way toward the group, arms already outstretched.

The little girl had nearly reached Rick when he gave a long-suffering sigh and untucked his handgun from his belt. Danny watched as he carefully levelled the gun at the biter's head.

There was a _bang_ , and the little girl fell dead, just like all the others.

"Don't look," Daryl warned a distraught Carol, hoisting her to her feet, "Don't look."

Carol let out a mournful wail before shoving Daryl away fiercely and scurrying off out of sight. Beth stood a few feet away, shaking so hard that her legs looked as though they would collapse beneath her. She softly pulled herself away from her father and trod forward, choking sobs escaping her with each new biter she passed, "Mum," she cried over and over, skipping around a sympathetic Rick with a distracted shove, " _Mum!_ "

She fell to her knees beside the corpse of a woman lying face-down and half-covered by another body. Beth pushed the biter off, still breathlessly whispering to herself. She carefully grasped the corpse's shoulder and lovingly turned her onto her back, only to screech when its eyes flew open and it snatched at her with a hungry snarl, hands fisting into long blonde pigtails and pulling her face toward its gaping maw. Danny bolted forward as Beth screamed again, the others right behind. Rick and Shane reached her first, struggling to pull her from her mother's grasp.

Danny leapt at the biter's arms, snatching both wrists up in a tight grip. The biter howled as if it was in pain, and Danny felt it trying to pull _away_ from him, its head shaking from side to side, neck craning as far as it could reach.

" _A little help here?_ " he hissed as the biter gave another frightful tug, trying to free itself. T-Dog jumped forward with his thick boots, rapidly stomping at its skull, but it only seemed to renew the biter's hunger as it snapped at the sole of his shoe, then reached for Glenn who grabbed the wrist Danny had nearly lost control of. He struggled to keep himself steady as the biter twisted and turned, baring its teeth at anybody that went near it while desperately trying to escape him.

T-Dog scampered back all of a sudden and Danny barely had time to look up when there was a call for "out of the way!" as a long-armed scythe flew past him, the thin curved blade piercing right through the biter's skull, cold steel slipping through its head like butter only inches away from Danny's nose, splattering brown-black blood across his face.

The biter collapsed to the ground as Andrea yanked the farm tool from its head and Danny fell back onto the seat of his jeans, panting hard. Beth was curled around her father, shoulders shaking.

Danny heard his name being called. He glanced over to see Glenn kneeling beside him, staring him dead in the eye, "Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

Danny gave a rattling sigh and nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, I think so…"

The tingling through the bridge of his nose receded and Danny felt a calmness wash over him. He gave Glenn a soft grin, "Yeah, I'm good."

Glenn blinked in amazement at him, "Your eyes!" he exclaimed, "They're blue!"

Danny frowned, "They've always been blue."

But Glenn shook his head, standing to his feet and offering Danny a hand which he gratefully took, "I swear they were green just now, man…"

He moved away to hover by Maggie as Hershel and his farmhand bundled up his youngest, gently tugging her back to the house. Beth had fallen near silent as she was dragged along. Rick and Shane following a few feet behind them. Danny felt anger flutter in his chest at the sight of the burly man's retreating form. He'd barely given Danny a second-glance since he threw him in the barn.

Danny raced after them, receiving a weak smile from Maggie when he touched her shoulder, giving his own consoling one in return.

Shane, as apathetic as ever, tossed his arms in the air, cursing Hershel loudly as they made their way up to the main house, "We've been out— we've been combing these woods looking for Sophia and you had a little girl almost exactly like the one we were looking for! You knew—"

"Leave us alone!" Maggie snapped over her shoulder. Danny levelled a glare of his own but was ignored.

But Shane wasn't done. Jogging a few steps he met Hershel by Beth's side, ignoring the way Rick tried to pull him back with an obnoxious slur in the sheriff's direction, "You knew there was a little girl, and you kept it from us!"

"I didn't know," Hershel's voice quivered with emotion.

"That's bullshit. I think you all knew!"

"We didn't know!" Maggie snarled as the Greene family stepped up onto the porch. She grabbed Danny's hand, pulling him beside her. Hershel passed Beth onto her sister who lead her inside and turned to face Shane. Danny hovered close by, not sure what to do.

"Otis put those people in the barn… maybe he found the girl and put her in there before he was killed," Hershel offered as an explanation.

Shane shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to intimidate the old man, "Do you expect me to believe that? What do I look like? Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Rick leapt forward, placing a hand on Shane's chest to calm him.

Hershel stood stubbornly on the spot, "I don't care what you _believe_ —"

"Okay now everybody just _calm down_ ," Rick tried to pacify, but Hershel snapped.

" _Get him off my land!"_ he screamed, jabbing his finger at Shane's face.

Shane stepped forward, towering over Hershel, "Now let me tell you something, man—"

"Hey!" Danny pushed himself forward, ramming his shoulder into the much bigger man's sternum, sending him stumbling down the stairs, "That's _enough!_ Just back off!"

Shane's face fell into a deep sneer, "What are you even doing here, you little dip-stick? I thought for sure the walkers would have at least used you as tooth floss or somethin' by now."

"No thanks to you," Danny huffed. Adrenaline flooded through him with a wave of confidence and a drought of common sense, "All you ever seem to do is walk around trying to bully everyone into doing what you want because you're bigger than them – pushing people around… trying to cause fights—"

"Cause fights? You wanna go or something, little brat?" Shane yelled, stepping up onto the porch, forcing Danny to look up at him despite standing on the top stair.

"Shane," Rick looked drained, "Stop it."

"You know what I think?" Danny spat, staring the larger man directly in the eye, "With what everyone says about Otis… about how good he was with the biters… and after everything I've learnt about you… I don't think he would have gone down without a fight…"

"Wha'chu trying to say, kid?" Shane bent down right in Danny's face.

Danny shrugged easily, feigning disinterest. Honestly, he didn't really know what he was saying, but he had listened to what the others had told him about Otis at the funeral –with his courageous sacrifice to save a boy's life – and it was obvious that the subject had struck a chord with Shane.

"Whatever you think I'm trying to say. It's just, with you and the busted leg and Otis knowing the lay of the land – Carl told me he was a professional hunter too – it makes me wonder how it was that _you_ escaped and _he_ didn't… Some might say he was _persuaded_ to stay behind."

"Danny!" Rick cried reproachfully, giving him a disappointed look that reminded him of his own father's. But Shane took more drastic actions.

Danny barely had time to duck as the ham-like fist flew at the spot his head had just been. Glenn jumped forward on Rick's command to wrap his arms around the strong-man, the two of them hauling Shane off the porch onto the dirt road who was hurling obscenities every which-way he could.

"Cool it, Shane. He's just a kid!"

Danny gave out a soft gurgle as the neck of his shirt was tugged back and he found himself following Maggie inside, who had switched her grip to his shoulders as if she was worried he was going to make a run for it at any second.

She led him into the kitchen, yanking out a glass and shoving it under the tap, filling it close to the brim before handing it over to Danny who immediately took a generous sip.

"What in the world do you think you were accusin' him of? You don't make men like Shane angry, Danny, that was a very stupid thing to do."

The adrenaline was draining out of his body as quickly as he emptied the water glass, and shame began to itch at the back of his mind. But then Maggie smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder in a way Jazz always had in the past when he received anything over a B-grade, "But I'm glad somebody brought him down a peg."

…

"'M callin' the bed," Daryl said.

"Oof!" Danny cried as a dirty rucksack filled with who-knows-what collided with his ribs, sending him toppling off the side of the mattress onto the floor, "What was that for?" he asked the dust bunnies beneath the bed.

He spotted Daryl slipping his mud-ridden boots off from the other side before they disappeared from sight, the mattress creaking in response, curving under Daryl's weight. Danny heaved himself off the floor, dog-earing the chapter he was reading – one of Dale's books. It wasn't very good, but it was worth something to pass the time.

"What are you doing in my room?" Danny asked, annoyed. Daryl had spread along the length of the bed, arms tucked behind his head and eyes closed as if he was preparing himself for an afternoon nap.

"Y' mean _our_ room? Hershel's got me under surveillance since I pulled a few o' my stitches out."

"So why aren't you on the couch?" Danny shoved Daryl's shoulder, trying to push him off the bed.

"Couch is taken," Daryl creaked open an eye, "Supposed you'd be lonely in here by yerself with yer own private room and ev'rything. Thought I'd be kind and keep ya company. 'Sides, this is the only spare room."

"How thoughtful of you."

Daryl gave a wheezing chuckle and reached behind his head, yanking out one of the many pillows stacked on top of the covers, tossing it at Danny, "Here. 'Preciate you givin' up yer bed for me. Respectin' yer elders and whatever."

Danny felt his hackles raise, "Hey! You can't have the bed! I was here first!"

The older man snorted, sitting up and resting his forearms across his knees, "Pretty sure it belonged to tha' walker from the barn with a hole in its head."

Danny clammed his jaw up at that. If he listened close enough, he could still hear Beth crying down the hallway, grieving over her lost brother and mother.

But he _really_ wanted that bed.

"I'll fight you for it," he boldly claimed.

Daryl stared incredulously at him, "Fight me? Ya look like ya ain't made of nothin' but swallow's bones."

He knelt by the bed and stuck his hand out at the bemused man, "Arm wrestle. Winner takes all."

Daryl rolled his eyes, but offered his own hand, but not before jabbing a finger at him, "Now I don' wanna hear no complaints from you after this, ya hear? An' no cheatin' neither."

Danny nodded. He could do this – that familiar thrumming when he was stuck in the barn with the walkers was rushing through him now. Promising him greatness; strength; ultimate power… and a really comfortable mattress.

His grip tightened against Daryl's and he furrowed his brow in concentration.

"What are you two doing?" Danny heard Rick's voice call from the doorway.

Daryl grunted, repositioning his elbow as he flexed his fingers with an evil smirk in Danny's direction, "The ultimate challenge; winner gets the bed. Loser gets comfy with the floorboards."

Rick chuckled, "Alright, well let's see how you two go. Need a call-in?"

They both nodded and Rick counted down, "Three _._ "

 _He could feel the energy simmering under his skin, like a hot poker jabbing at him, trying to sear its way free—_

"Two."

 _Calling… Beckoning—_

"One."

 _It was so close. His eyes watered, flaring hot – but cold, like liquid nitrogen —_

"Go!"

Daryl slammed Danny's hand down on the mattress. He didn't even make it two seconds.

A thin smile spread its way across Daryl's face as he sat up, bouncing on the bed a few times as if to test the springs.

Danny pouted sullenly, ignoring Rick's sympathetic shrug, "Best out of three?"

Daryl smacked him in the face with a pillow.

…

Danny shifted himself for the sixth time, trying to find a comfortable spot on the hardwood floor. The thin blanket he'd pulled on top of himself had been shoved down by his feet with the sweltering Georgian weather. He gave another huff as he fluffed his pillow, desperate for sleep. His body was exhausted, but his mind was wide awake, flitting through memories at break-neck speeds of his friends and family.

"Stop that," Danny heard.

"Huh? Stop what?"

"Stop movin' 'round so much – can't fall asleep with yous tossin' and turnin' like ya got night terrors or somethin'."

"I haven't got night terrors," Danny frowned, fluffing up his pillow with indignant punches, "I just can't sleep 's'all."

Daryl just grunted from where he faced the wall, blankets pulled tightly up to his neck until he resembled nothing but a tartan-printed lump with a smattering of greasy hair peeking out of the top. Danny didn't understand how he wasn't dying from the heat.

Collapsing back on his pillow Danny heaved a great sigh. The waxing moon trickled its way through the sliver in the curtains, sending a splay of light across the ceiling. He followed the trail with his eyes, raising a hand to trace a spidery crack in the far corner before giving out another heavy sigh.

He pulled himself up to rest his arms on his thighs and looked at Daryl. The man was so still he could barely tell if he was breathing.

Daryl suddenly rolled over and glared at him from beneath the covers, "What?" he gritted out.

"Nothing," Danny said quickly.

"Obviously ain't nothin', otherwise ya wouldn' be starin' at me like tha'."

"Like what?"

"Like ya can't tell the difference 'tween the front and back end of a skunk," Daryl rolled his eyes, before shoving himself up onto an elbow, pointing at his forehead, "What's with the stupid hairstyle anyway?"

Danny slapped a hand on his hairline, "It's not stupid!"

Daryl chuckled sardonically, "Looks like ya got in a fight with a bottle of bleach and lost."

"It's natural…" he pouted, "My sister thinks it's late-occurring piebaldism."

Daryl squinted down at him, "Don't look like yer goin' bald…"

"That's not what… never mind," he tugged at the white hairs that tickled his forehead. The patch of pale hair had appeared almost overnight after the run-in with his mum and dad's portal.

His parents had barely noticed (too busy with their experiments) apart from his dad pointing at him over breakfast a few days later and announcing that he thought he looked 'cool'. Jazz had clinically labelled him as going through a rebellious phase until she found him one evening in the bathroom with a bottle of black hair dye and the kitchen scissors. She had done extensive research then, concluding that their family history must have had some dormant strain of Waardenburg syndrome brought on by the extreme conditionings of stress.

Danny wasn't sure he believed that.

The room was quiet for another beat before Danny finally spoke.

"I got it after a run-in with one of my parent's experiments." He could feel Daryl's eyes staring at him through the dark, but refused to meet his gaze, "They're inventors you know… My friends, Tucker and Sam, wanted to see one of their projects," He chucked drily, "It was supposed to be a portal – to the ghost world of all things, can you believe that?"

Danny snorted in disbelief more for his own sake than Daryl's, "My friends dared me to go inside. We didn't realise the power was still on, or that my dad had put the 'on' switch inside the machine – dad always did stuff like that. Always forgot where he put things or how he made them or if he left the stove on..."

"So ya got shocked," Daryl said bluntly.

Danny nodded his head before realising the man probably couldn't see it in the dark. "Yeah. Tucker and Sam think I turned my hair white with fright – had a good laugh at me once everything calmed down…"

The two were quiet after that. Every so often they would hear the hiccupping sobs of Beth down the hall, followed by Patricia's sorrowful hushing.

"Izzat how you got those scars?"

Danny jolted, automatically pulling his left hand toward his chest to cradle it. He traced the flesh of his palm with his thumb, feeling the hoarfrost pattern that travelled from the centre of his hand up to his elbow and creeps under the sleeve of his shirt. The skin had healed quickly, turning from an ugly reddish-purple to the faintest of pinks in less than two weeks, barely visible in broad daylight unless you were really looking at it.

He lifted his hand to the moonlight twisting it slowly and watching how the moonlight caught on the raised skin; casting mottled and ugly shadows.

"Yeah," he whispered before turning to Daryl's silhouette, "How'd you get yours?"

He watched the way the form beneath the duvet froze, shoulders hunched and eyes narrowed at him, "None o' yer damn business," the older man barked sharply.

With a flurry of bedsheets, Daryl turned away, curling into a ball without another word. Danny cringed and fell silent.

The house was finally quiet. Danny fluffed his pillow again before twisting to follow the spider-crack on the ceiling, prepared for a sleepless night.

…

The sun had long past set the next day by the time leaving occurred to Danny. He had contained himself to what was once Hershel's step-son, Shawn's, bedroom. I felt like a mausoleum, with Shawn's belongings and memorabilia strayed throughout the room – Danny even found a dirty magazine in a backpack stuffed in the closet. He sat at the desk, bored as he stared out the window. Daryl had left in the early hours before the sun had even risen that morning, and Danny hadn't seen him since. The room had quickly dissolved into a black so deep that he couldn't even see the RV parked less than fifty yards away. Every so often one of the women would skitter past the closed door toward where he suspected Beth was recuperating from the trauma of her deceased mother.

He shook himself; what was he even _doing_ here? He didn't _belong_ here. Nobody really _wanted_ him here. He _should_ be out looking for his family.

Pensively, Danny stood and crept toward the door. Creaking it open, he glanced through the narrow gap to find the short hallway empty. The door at the end was firmly shut. Feeling more confident, Danny strode out of the room, bypassing the kitchen and headed for the front door. The air was still warm as he skipped out onto the porch and down the steps, the sky dark except for a sliver from the growing moon. The dirt path made his feet crunch lightly as he travelled down it and he scoffed at the large RV as he passed by, throwing a silent insult at Shane who he was sure was lurking around somewhere, and headed out toward the field he had first appeared from.

The wheat field skimmed his thighs as he trundled through it, and the little glint of moonlight reflecting off the swaying grain made him feel like he was wading through knee-deep water. He grinned as he reached the edge of the forest, slipping past the branches without a backwards glance toward the farm and nothing but the clothes on his back.

Quickly though Danny damned his lack of thought to bring a flashlight; he nearly barked out loud after he tripped over another root. The forest was silent as he struggled to make his way through the thick foliage until, expectedly, he ran head-first into a low-hanging branch.

"Ow! Darn it!"

He clutched at his aching forehead as he muttered angrily to himself. Maybe it would have been smarter to have waited until daylight, where he could see where he was going. If only he could see like he had in the barn…

Whatever happened in the barn was certainly not natural, he knew that. But with everything going on Danny had barely had time to consider it; it was as if the biters had beenafraid of _him_.

He began to pace on the spot, wary of running into another tree as he asked himself in a mantra, ' _How did I do it?'_

Halting stubbornly, Danny pinched his eyes shut as the forest chattered quietly around him with cicadas, birds and frogs. He could remember the thick blackness that had absorbed him when he was stuck in the barn; the rattling breath and horrid stench of off-flesh, he could remember the fear and how his body had gone into overdrive, every nerve acting as if it were on fire, but most of all he remembered his desperate want to live. Not just survive, but to truly _live._

The familiar tingling sensation ran down the bridge of his nose before his senses were flung into acid green and he slammed his eyes open, the world around him flaring to light. Blinking, Danny stared dazedly around; it was like somebody had switched out a black and white television for one with a full-colour, high definition multi-platform set. He could see each individual leaf that sat in the tree-tops, see every pebble that lined the waterbed of the nearby creek, see each crater that threatened to crack the moon's surface from millions of miles away.

Danny gave in as a burst of laughter escaped him and he spun around – the dark hadn't diminished any less, but he could definitely see more. The green tinged the edges of his sight but it was easy to forget it as he raced from tree to tree, fingers ghosting over brittle slivers of bark as if to prove what he was seeing was true. And it was, it truly was.

A final giggle escaped his lungs before Danny heaved a great sigh, slumping onto a nearby tree, careful to avoid crushing the army of ants that marched their way adamantly up the trunk. He watched them lazily for a few minutes. It was peaceful out here. Nothing like the farm. He could get used to this.

A twig cracked from his far left and Danny jumped, swivelling around on the spot. He peered through the trees, hoping to catch sight of a deer or a badger, but a sliver of brown cloth dashed that hope.

Danny snatched a branch off the ground and held it at the ready. He wasn't going to let a biter sneak up on him anytime soon. Not after everything he had been through.

Another twig cracked and his breath caught in his throat. He tried to fight the trembling in his arms but the leaves on the branch rattled like a wind chime.

Whatever it was stumbled closer and Danny began to feel faint. His vision blurred and the tingling in his sinuses disappeared along with his eyesight. Everything was dark again. Not even the moon could penetrate the tree tops.

He could hear breathing now and the bush beside him rustled. Danny snapped. With an almighty heave, he swung the branch—

"Woah! Hey, watch it with tha' thang!"

"Daryl?" he called. Daryl's silhouette appeared from the bushes before Danny felt the branch being snatched from his grasp and tossed aside.

"Wha' the hell wazzat for? Ya nearly took my dang head clean off!"

"I thought you were a biter— I mean, a walker!"

"Do I look like a walker to you?" Daryl snipped.

"Well, it's not like I can actually see _anything_."

Daryl scoffed, "Yeah, well it was a pretty dumb thing t' come out here in the middle of the night, wasn't it? What're ya doing out here, anyway? Taking a moonlit stroll or somethin'?"

Danny's cheeks heated, "I don't have to explain myself to you!" he yelled.

Danny imagined Daryl's eyes were rolling "Whatever. Was just wonderin' where ya been was all… first with Lori pissin' off and then you goin' Hansel and Gretel without no breadcrumbs – come on, we'd better head back to camp before the other brat does a dissapearin' act of his own..."

"I'm not some stupid kid! I can look after myself!" Danny bellowed, fists curled. He was sick of being treated as insignificant and inept.

"And look how good you've done. You're over two miles out from camp – if it wasn't for me you'd be stuck wanderin' these woods for weeks if a walker didn't get you first."

"That is _exactly_ what I meant to do," Danny hissed out.

That pulled Daryl up short, "You're leavin'? Why?"

"Because, unlike you, I have places to be. I need to find my family—"

"Izzat why you took off? T'go and find your _family_? Well reality check, kid; if you haven't found 'em yet, you're not gonna. They're gone, and they're _never_ comin' back—"

"Shut up! You don't know that!" Danny yelled.

But Daryl wasn't done, "—and I'm warnin' ya, if you head off now, you're gonna be just like that little girl you dragged here, 'cept you're gonna be all alone and nobody's gonna be haulin' your useless ass back to mama!"

"Why do you even care?" Danny snarled, "Why'd you even follow me in the first place?"

"Well someone's gotta do the thinkin' since you've got nothin' workin' up there," Daryl quipped in a rare flash of wit, "You know, you're really somethin'. After everythin', you're just gonna take off in the middle o' the night without even a 'thank you'?"

Danny whirled on the spot, " _'Thank you'_? What am I even supposed to be thankful _for_? Should I be thankful for you guys shooting me? Or should it be for locking me up in a tool shed? Oh, no, wait, I know what I should be thankful for; it's for that giant lug-head you and all of your friends are hiding behind _who threw me into a barn full of flesh-feasters!"_ Danny huffed, fighting down the anger that was boiling through his veins, but the sarcasm didn't leave his tone, "You're right, Daryl, you're so right – I should say thank you. Maybe you could pass on a message for me; 'thank you, you bunch of psychopaths, for nearly killing me. Not once, but _twice_! I truly appreciate it'."

Daryl scoffed, "I ain't no messenger boy, you can go tell Shane yerself how ya really feel if ya wanna so badly. I'm not gonna do it. Now stop actin' like such a baby and let's go."

Danny paused speculatively, his eyes staring at the dark spot he heard Daryl's voice emerge from, "I know what this is about," he finally said, "You feel guilty – about Sophia, don't you? I've seen the way you act around Carol… It's because she died and you—"

"You don't know nothin'!" Daryl's voice cracked, before he whispered, "I— I told her mama that I'd find her safe. I swore that I'd bring her back alive! And then you showed up cartin' a dead lil' girl wearin' that stupid rainbow shirt and… and…" there was a long silence before Daryl finally muttered, "Aw, screw it, I'm done helpin' people. Do whatever you wan'. See if I care. See if anybody cares."

Danny heard Daryl turn and storm away through the underbrush, leaving Danny to sink into the darkness. Guilt swelled his insides and battled furiously with his pride. He blinked a few times in hopes seeing the flashes of green, but it had long disappeared, so with a regret-filled sigh, Danny followed after Daryl.

He shortly caught up with the older man and the two trundled their way through the woods in silence, Danny following a good distance behind when Daryl called out, "Why're ya still followin' me?"

Danny considered apologising, but after many gruelling minutes pride won the battle, "I'm just heading back to thank Hershel… for the medical supplies. I'll be gone by tomorrow, I'll say goodbye then."

"Don't bother. Goodbyes are stupid," Daryl grunted in response but didn't say anything more.

By the time they reached the boundaries of the forest the sun was beginning to peek its way across the horizon, and grey light filtered dully across the ocean field they swept through. Trundling up the steps the two of them made their way to the dining table which was laden with food despite dinner being over nearly eight hours ago. Danny caught sight of Lori in the sitting room, holding a piece of linen up to a cut on her head.

"What happened to her?" Danny wondered aloud.

Daryl hefted his crossbow off his shoulder, snatching a plate of cold leftover chicken and vegetables, "Dumb bitch can't drive for shit, that's what."

Danny grabbed his own plate of food and nibbling at it. He childishly ignored the broccoli and noted dryly that Daryl did the same.

They ate in silence, only the clatter of cutlery filled the air when he heard Lori in the other room jump to her feet, rushing past the dining room to slam through the entrance door. Danny, curious, dropped his knife and fork and followed. The Greene family along with the rest of Rick's group milled around the front yard as a car flew down the dirt road, coming to a halt just a few metres from them. Rick was the first to appear from the car and Carl flew into his arms, crying "Dad!" alongside Lori, followed by Hershel and then Glenn, who Maggie rushed to happily much to her father's disgruntlement.

"Patricia, prepare the shed for surgery," the vet ordered, ignoring Danny who stepped out of the doorway to let him past.

"Who the hell is that?" T-Dog asked, pointing to the car. Danny squinted his eyes, staring into the dark interior of the car and spotted a boy with a strip of red cloth tied across his eyes, head lolling loosely to the side.

Glenn gave a shrug, "That's Randall."

…

Danny heaved himself up the porch steps, sweating, and shoved open the front door, happy to be out of the blazing sun as he made his way to the kitchen. After Randall's appearance he hadn't had the chance to talk to Hershel and thank him for his hospitality. He had breached the two-day mark that morning, but nobody paid enough attention to him to call him on it.

Rick and Shane had gone with Randall to drop him off in the outskirts of town, decidedly at eighteen miles out. Danny hadn't had the opportunity to meet the kid, but with how the others had described Randall's group, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Maggie and Beth were still yelling at each other from down the hall as he made his way into the kitchen, Beth's screeches full of tears. Andrea and Lori leant against the countertops, both looking dazed and far away. Danny knocked on the doorframe softly and Lori glanced up.

"Need anything, honey?" she said distractedly.

Danny shrugged, making his way to the refrigerator, "Just wanted something to eat."

Lori bustled her way over, reaching into the open fridge and pulled out a plate of the previous night's meal, "Here. This was for Beth, but she wasn't exactly… feeling up for it."

Danny took the plate with a polite smile and placed it on the island, taking the fork Lori offered him.

"Er, could I have a knife too, please?"

Lori seemed to jolt herself to life, "Right! Sorry, of course. Here," she opened the cutlery drawer and offered him the handle of a steak-knife. Danny took it carefully, eyeing Lori's strange behaviour, but the woman had already receded into herself and the room filled with the angry screams of the Greene sisters.

Danny ate slowly. This could possibly be his last meal before he headed off and he wasn't about to let it go to waste.

He chewed silently as Andrea asked, "Where's Hershel?"

"I don't really wanna know yet," Lori admitted, "It's a family affair. Let them work it out."

"That's working it out?" Andrea asked sardonically.

Lori stepped forward and stole a zucchini slice off Danny's plate, making him frown. Lori didn't notice, "When Beth stops fighting that's when we should start to worry."

" _I can't believe you're being so selfish!"_ Danny jumped at the sound of Maggie's voice echoing from Beth's room.

Andrea heaved a sigh, "This could have been handled better."

"How so?"

"You shouldn't have taken the knife away."

Lori frowned with obvious disapproval, " _Really?_ "

"You were wrong," Andrea continued, manner-of-factly, "Like Dale taking my gun. That wasn't your decision. She has to choose to live on her own – she has to find her own reason."

Danny nearly choked on his carrots. Wheezing, he stared with wide eyes as the blonde woman, who simply shrugged at his dumbstruck expression.

"You wanna tie a noose for her?" Lori asked, picking up Danny's half-eaten plate despite his still-poised cutlery, and scraping the leftovers in the garbage bin, but Danny barely noticed his meal being snatched away as he sat slack-jawed.

"If she's serious she'll figure out a way."

Lori put the plug in the sink and turned the tap on full-blast, "Doesn't mean I can't stop her or let her know that I care."

"That has nothing to do with it, Lori. She only has so many choices in front of her. And she believes the best one is suicide."

Danny couldn't take the simple talk, "You're kidding me, right? Death isn't a choice – it's an ultimatum."

Andrea snorted, "Hardly. If she wants to kill herself then let her. She'll figure out where she stands."

"That's not how it works!" Danny shoved his seat back and leapt to his feet, "You don't always get a second choice after you made your first!"

"I came through it," Andrea said stubbornly.

"Oh, really?" Danny felt his fists wrap themselves against the edge of the tabletop. The wood creaked loudly, "You just admitted it less than a minute before! Can you honestly say that you would be here if Dale didn't help you out?"

"That was different."

" _How?_ How was that different?" Danny was yelling now. Something in Andrea's attitude rubbed him all the wrong ways, "All you're trying to do is make everything worse! Shoving someone in a corner and making them think that suicide is the only choice isn't helping; it's _murder!_ "

Andrea frowned standing from her spot against the cupboards, "I watched my sister die right in front of me! She was all I had left—"

"I don't even know if my sister is _alive_ – or the rest of my family! I don't know if they're safe, or warm, or freezing or starving or if they're already _dead_ – which is a hundred times worse! At least you have peace of mind that your sister isn't suffering! So, come on, tell me, huh, should I go and _off_ _myself_? Should I, Andrea? Is that my only choice now? _Tell me!_ " Danny roared.

The sound of lightning cracking echoed through the kitchen and the wood under Danny's hands burst apart under his grip. The three-inch thick plank of wood lay in ruins, dimples marked where his fingers had crushed the varnished wood into nothing more than two handfuls of shredded pulp.

Andrea and Lori stared, and Danny's eyesight wavered in and out of focus as rage consumed him. His chest was heaving and he was sure that he looked near-manic judging by the looks playing across both women's faces.

Lori cautiously walked over, placing a cool hand on his shoulder and pushing him to the door, "Come on, Danny. I think it's time for you to get some air."

Danny shoved her off moodily as he stormed out of the house, sending a final dirty look in Andrea's direction. Lori followed him out onto the decking, carefully closing the fly-screen door. There was a hint of a breeze and Danny inhaled through is nose as he stared around at the peaceful scenery. His chest was still tight and his fists were clenched, but the farmlands helped. A little.

"Wanna show me your hands?" Lori asked. There was the slightest of trembling to her voice, but she stood in front of him firmly.

Danny shook his head, only now noticing the sharp sting emitting from both of his fists. Lori ignored him, gently grasping his wrist and coaxing his right hand open. Danny looked on at the mottled mess of his palm which was soaked in blood. Tens of hundreds of tiny slivers of wood poked out of his skin and Lori hissed.

"Come on, let's go grab some tweezers and clean up this mess."

Danny stared at the woman who refused to meet his gaze. She didn't really want to help him, not really. She just wanted a way to avoid all the disaster around her, and he was the perfect distraction.

Danny curled his hand away, pulling it from Lori's grasp with a grim smile, "It's okay," he tried to say evenly, "I've got it."

Lori didn't try to fight him as he trekked back into the house, his footsteps deceptively calm as he passed by the kitchen. Andrea had long since disappeared and Danny, feeling much freer, headed for the main bathroom, snatching a pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet and closed the door to Shawn's room behind him.

He sat there for over an hour, arduously plucking the tiny shards of wood out of his hands. There was a small, ever-growing molehill of splinters that lay as evidence of his actions in blood-soaked ruins. It was painful, and tiresome, but overall satisfying when he pulled the final stubborn piece from under his thumbnail.

He released a sigh and collapsed against the head board. The house had long quietened down and Danny laid there lazily, watching the sun play against the ceiling.

The calm was broken when a shriek followed by hiccupping whimpers filled his ears and Danny jumped to his feet, tearing open the door and racing down the hall to Beth's room. He found Lori and Maggie pounding on the bathroom door. Maggie was screaming.

"Beth! Don't do this! Beth, don't do this, please!"

"Where's the key?" Lori cried.

"I don't know," Maggie snapped back, turning to rummage frantically through a chest of drawers, "Beth, honey, please open the door, I'm not mad!"

There was a smashing of glass and Beth gave out another wail.

Danny shoved his way into the room, "Move," he ordered sternly.

The two women dashed out of the way as Danny charged forward, and just like how he had rammed Shane by the barn, his shoulder smashed into the thick oak door so hard that one of the hinges fell off with a metallic clatter. The door flew in and Danny nearly ran into a sobbing Beth who was gripping her bleeding wrist tightly.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered to the room.

He grimaced as Maggie shoved him out of the way, stretching out to embrace Beth and the two girls plus Lori quickly left the room, closing the broken door behind them, leaving Danny alone with nothing but to stare at his broken reflection through the mirror shards.

…

The next day left Danny feeling hollow. He sat in the shade by Sophia's grave, watching as Rick's group milled about their campsite. Daryl was the only one missing, locked in the shed that Rick, Hershel and Shane had held him captive in when he first arrived. It wasn't long before Daryl emerged, his knuckles split and covered in red. Danny watched him pass but he barely received a glance from the man.

He ignored the group as they swept into a tight circle, arguing between one another. Rolling his eyes Danny returned to staring at the shed; it was old and looked like a strong gust of wind could send it tumbling to the ground in a heap of rotting planks and termites.

By the time he looked back, they had long since left and now only Glenn and Maggie hovered nearby, sitting in near silence by the empty fire pit.

Danny heaved himself to his feet feeling rather lost; to leave while the sun was brightest would be the best, but everyone had been on high alert since Randall's appearance. He wasn't sure if any of Rick's group would even _let_ him leave. Shane was especially paranoid; Danny could practically feel the man's glare whenever he was nearby.

The shine of a badge caught his eye and he watched as Carl dressed in his usual sheriff's hat crept his way from the Greene's house to the shed where Andrea stood guard, talking to Shane emphatically.

Making sure to stay out of sight, Danny followed Carl's lead, sneaking behind the decrepit wood shed. He peered through the gaps to see a badly beaten Randall speaking to somebody in the rafters.

"Sheriff-guy – that's your dad? I like him. Yeah, he's a good guy, I can tell…" Randall said in monologue. Danny couldn't see Carl, "Your mum out here too? You're lucky you've still got your family, I lost mine—"

Danny nearly pulled away then, shrugging off his worries as paranoia; Randall seemed harmless enough…

"My camp, we got lotsa supplies. You help me, I'll take you and your folks back to my people. We'll take good care of you – keep you safe. Just help me pick the lock or find the keys, okay. Please?"

Danny didn't hesitate to clamber up on top of the wood piled behind the shed, slipping through the narrow gap in the rafters, "Carl! What do you think you're doing!" he hissed down at the younger boy.

"You followed me?" Carl sounded annoyed.

Danny leapt down from the rafters onto a bundle of hay and latched onto Carl's shirt, dragging him back from where he was approaching Randall.

"Hey! Lemme go!"

"Be quiet," Danny hissed in warning, "Do you want Shane to hear you? Or your dad? What would they say if they found us in here?"

"I know you," Randall whispered. The shackles behind his back jingled as he leaned forward, squinting up at Danny's face, "At my camp, there were army men. They said theys were looking for you. Had a picture an' everythin'. Said yous were mighty important. Secret mission stuff."

Danny blinked in horror. Pearson had said that all his men had died from the attack by the herd – but maybe a few got away...

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled finally, "It must be someone else."

Randall looked confused but Danny ignored him, turning to Carl who crossed his arms stubbornly, bottom lip jutting out.

"It's either we go out the back door now or I call Shane in through the front," Danny reasoned. He didn't have the patience for this. His older sister was the one who inherited that particular trait. He was the one who got the bad hair and the even worse temper.

Carl turned to climb back up the side of the shed onto the narrow loft. Randall called out, "W-wait! You can't leave me here!"

Danny heaved himself up after Carl, and called back, "I could always ask Daryl to keep you company?"

Randall clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, so Danny pulled himself into the rafters, awkwardly wriggling himself through the narrow hole onto the wood pile. With barely a sound he leapt to the ground beside a sulking Carl.

" _What was that?"_ Danny hissed flinging his arm in the direction of the shed, "You can't just… you could have gotten hurt—"

"I can handle myself," Carl argued loudly.

Danny snatched his arm and dragged him down the road, warily glancing over his shoulder at where Shane and Andrea stood, "What were you thinking going in there with that guy? Didn't you hear what your dad said?"

Carl looked suddenly nervous, "You wouldn't tell him, would you?"

Danny heaved a sigh. He didn't do the babysitting gig – especially with kids who were nearly the same age as him. Carl seemed to take his silence as a no.

"Why's the army after you?"

"They're not," Danny said dismissively.

"That's not what Randall—"

"Look," Danny ducked down the few inches that separated Carl and himself height-wise, "How about we make a deal? You don't tell anyone about what Randall said, and I won't tell your parents that you snuck in there, capisce?"

Carl looked terrified at the idea of his parents finding out and nodded fervidly. Danny stood up again with an easy grin, "Good. Now go find your mum or something."

Danny gave him a push and Carl stumbled forward unhappily. At about ten feet away he turned back to Danny and said spitefully, "You know they're dead, right?"

Danny froze, "What?"

"Your family. They're dead – that's what everyone says. They're just letting you stay here because they feel bad for you."

Arrogantly, Carl turned on his heel and dashed away to the farmhouse, but Danny barely noticed. He didn't know what to say or what to even think. His knees gave way beneath him and he slouched onto the ground, his legs sprawled in front of him as he stared out onto the horizon. Of course they thought his family was dead – deep down he knew that. But to be housed here only out of a show of misplaced _pity_?

He thought of how everyone treated him. As if he was insignificant – unimportant. No one really made eye contact with him, and when they did they never really _saw_ him. He was just another orphan kid – another mouth to feed – an _obligation_.

Daryl was right; nobody really cared.

Slowly, on shaking legs, Danny stood up. His steps were low and quiet as he made his way into the house. He could hear Hershel and Beth in the nearby room, happily singing a nursery rhyme to one another. Danny shoved his way into Shawn's room snatching the backpack from under the bed and tossing the dirty magazine hidden inside into a waste paper basket. He yanked some clothes out of the closet, stuffing them into the bag. The shoes were too large, so Danny was left with his sneakers before moving to tuck his water bottle into one of the pockets.

He left the room to make for the kitchen, happy to find it empty and pulled open the cupboards, grabbing some of the loose-packet energy bars and a collection of cans and a large knife, stowing them away deep inside the bag. He angrily zipped it shut, heaving it over his shoulder and stomping out of the house, snatching Glenn's favourite baseball cap which was sitting innocently on the hat rack as he passed.

The day was hot despite the sun having long since passed its zenith, with pinks and oranges barely beginning to flitter their way across the sky, but Danny just pulled the hat down tighter over his ears and pressed on. He only made it halfway through the field when he heard his name being called out.

"Danny!"

He turned to find Dale in his ridiculous bucket hat and Hawaiian print shirt, a rifle hanging loosely over one shoulder as he treaded his way through the grass toward him.

"Danny! Where are you going?"

"Away," he said shortly.

"Away? Alone by yourself? Why? You could get hurt if you did that. No, no, no, Rick wouldn't want you wandering around on your own."

"Rick wouldn't even notice, I'm sure," Danny gritted through his teeth, "What do you want?"

Dale shifted his weight, "It's about Randall…"

"What about him?" he asked, suddenly nervous. He'd sworn Carl to secrecy, but what if Randall had said something? Rick and his friends would be suspicious – they were desperate. And suspicious people did desperate things.

"It's about the execution call tonight…"

Danny nearly gave a shout of relief. He clocked the brim of the cap off his eyes and stared at Dale, "Okay… so why do you want to talk about it with me? I've got nothing to do with it."

"Well, you see, I was hoping maybe you could talk some sense into the group. You're a smart kid, and— and— and you could relate to him. Give Rick and the other's a different perspective, shed some light on the group of what it's like to be a teenage boy _—_ "

"I was a C-student," Danny said shortly, "And from what I heard he was shooting at Rick and Glenn, right? And Hershel? He doesn't really sound like someone I could really relate to."

"He made a mistake!" Dale burst out, and Danny suspected this was neither the first nor the second time he had claimed this argument, "Just like Andrea did to you. You wouldn't let her be killed if she was in the boy's shoes, would you? We need to show the others that we can still be a civil society with rules and guidelines!"

Danny rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well, Andrea isn't exactly my favourite person right now, all right? In fact, none of you are, really. I mean, Daryl's okay I guess, but he's still a jerk half the time..."

"So— so you're just going to _leave_ then?"

Danny stared pointedly at the farm then at his backpack before giving a derisive nod, "Yeah. I am."

Dale sputtered profusely before bursting out, "You can't just leave!"

"Why? Because you'll feel bad? Because you'll lay awake at night feeling sorry for the 'poor orphan kid' lost in the woods? No? Face it, you don't _really_ care. You just want your conscience to be clear—"

Dale raised his hands in what Danny guessed was a coaxing manner, "Now, Danny, that's simply not true. Please, if you would just listen—"

"A 'civil society'! Sure, _that's_ what we are. Nothing I do is good enough for you people, is it?" Danny spat, "I know how you all look at me, what you say about me behind my back. You all think I'm stupid – that my parents are dead and I'm too deep in denial to admit it—"

"We don't think that, we'd never think that! You're just as much a part of this group as the rest of us—"

"Will you stop _lying?_ That's what's wrong with you people – you all think you know what's best! But you're all looking out for yourselves first! You don't care about me, not really – _and don't you dare deny it!_ " Danny screeched when Dale opened his mouth to argue, "The only reason you're talking to me right now is because you need something from me, all of you have. I may be stupid, but at least I know how to be a decent human being!" Danny's chest was heaving and his throat ached from his tirade, but the look on Dale's face proved that he got the message through.

Hefting his backpack higher, he sniffed, "I'm going to go find my family," and stormed off into the woods without a backward glance. There was nothing worth looking back at anyway.

The cool green lushness enveloped him and Danny felt he was finally able to breathe again. There was a babbling creek that stretched its way through the woods and Danny fell into an easy pattern beside it. His backpack clanked every so often as the cans inside jostled, but otherwise there was nothing but the sounds of nature.

Hefting himself on top of a large fallen log, Danny opened his arms wide and tip-toed along the length of it, like a tightrope walker, hopping off into the squelchy mud to turn with a flourish to an imaginary crowd.

Only that he did have an audience.

Grey-skinned and with malting reddish-blond hair stood a walker. The flesh around its lip had been torn clear off, a scraggly beard clinging to the remains of a chin and its bare chest was thin, close to nothing but bones as it stared ravenously at him.

The walker marched forward through the water and Danny felt oddly angry – he had only just left the farm. There shouldn't be any walkers so close to Hershel's lands. It should have been safe for at least another mile out.

' _Of all the luck,_ ' Danny thought. Any sense of fear of this creature was overridden with indignant fury.

The walker had nearly crossed the creek bed now, its arms groping for him. Setting his jaw, Danny strode down the low slope and raised a sneaker-covered foot, shoving it straight into the walker's chest. It stumbled back, water-sodden feet slipping right through the muddy embankment to sink shin-deep. The walker tugged its legs, trying to break free while ravenously reached for him, snarling and hissing loudly.

Danny barked out in a sharp tone, "Stay!"

The walker froze in its frenzy and its arms dropped placidly by its side. Danny stared in amazement, creeping a foot closer to the corpse. Its milky eyes followed his every motion, but it didn't move.

' _Huh,_ ' Danny mused, backing away up the hillside, ' _That's…_ different _._ '

...

Chapter two complete! This story takes quite a while to write because I have to write in direct correlation to the scripts of the TV series, and I only have so much free time. This story will probably come out monthly. At the moment there's an outlined ten-twelve chapters branching out across the seasons. Please leave your thoughts and a review.


	3. Run

**Chapter 3: Run**

 _Jaywalking: (intransitive) to cross a street at a place other than a regulated crossing or in a heedless and reckless manner._

…

Daryl leaned heavily against the solid oak cabinet by the farmhouse's front door. It was an ugly thing, all polished wood with those weird little embellished legs that looked like someone had hacked some poor cat's feet off and jammed them to the bottom with varnish and glue. If his brother was still around he was sure they would have been able to make a pretty penny out of selling the thing.

His spot by the cabinet was a vantage point to the sitting room where the others were milling around, each one looking more despondent than the next. Dale had stormed in only a short while ago, mouth pulled into a harsh, jagged line to stop moodily by the piano where Glenn sat, fingers clenching and unclenching as he stared through the window out toward the farm borders. Hershel sat on the couch opposite, his daughters hovering nearby.

He forced down a sigh as the others nervously shifted about and glanced down at the cabinet; it even had those stupid door-knocker handles; all shiny and gold. Maybe if he propped open one of the drawers he'd be able to screw one of them loose without anyone noticing…

Rick and Lori pushed their way through the front door with their brat following shortly behind. Daryl raised an eyebrow when the kid stood in the doorway, lip jutting out like someone had just stolen his ice cream cone.

"Go play with Danny, Carl," Rick waved a hand with a firm voice.

"No! I hate him!" Carl yelled back.

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose before muttering, "Fine. Just go to your room then."

The kid stormed off down the hall and Daryl rolled his eyes at the loud slam the door down the hall made. Turning back to the adults in the room, he watched as varying shades of guilt flickered across their faces before crossing his arms, snorting under his breath at the morose scene.

Glen was the first to break the ice, stuttering out, "So how do we do this? Just… take a vote?"

"Does it have to be unanimous?" Andrea asked, "Or majority rules?"

"Let's just think about this first, then… talk through the options," Rick paced them, moving forward to grasp at the back of another one of the Greene's ugly antiques; a squat-looking couch with wood trimming. Probably expensive too – was there a market for velvet sofa cushions?

Was there a market for anything nowadays?

"Well, the way I see it, it's the only way to move forward," Shane shrugged.

"Killing him. Right?" Dale spat out before his shoulders dropped, "Well why even bother taking a vote? It's obvious the way the wind's blowing…"

"Well if people believe we should spare him, I wanna know," Rick declared.

"Well I can tell you it's a small group, maybe just… me and Glenn."

Daryl watched Glenn squirm in his seat and Dale's face turn into one of betrayal, "I pretty much think you're right about everything, all the time, but this—" Glenn started guiltily.

"They've got you scared!" Dale burst out, shoving out an arm to the motley group.

"He's not one of us!" Glenn argued back, mirroring the old man, "And we've… we've lost too many people already."

Dale seemed to flounder for a second. Daryl could hear his wheezing breaths from across the room before he stabbed his finger at the old farmer, "How about you? Do you agree with this?"

Maggie rolled her head in Rick's direction, "Couldn't we continue holding him prisoner?" she asked passively.

Daryl shoved himself off the cabinet to instead lean against the wall closer to the group, "Still 'nother mouth t' feed."

"It may be a lean winter," Hershel agreed.

Lori looked unimpressed, "We could ration better."

"Or he could be an asset! Give him a chance to prove himself!" Dale said loudly. Daryl could see the confidence rising in his shoulders.

"Put him to work?" Glenn suggested.

"We're not letting him walk around," Rick said firmly.

Maggie shrugged, "We could put an escort on him."

"And who'd wanna do that duty?" Shane sneered.

"I will," Dale quickly said.

Rick raised a hand, "I don't think any of us should be walking around with this guy."

"He's right. I wouldn't feel safe with him around unless he was tied up," Lori quickly added.

"We can't exactly put chains around his ankles and sentence him to hard labour," Andrea said sarcastically, throwing Lori a dirty glance.

"We could ask Danny to ghost him. He might be able to learn more about him – see if he's actually a bad guy," T-Dog suggested.

"That might be a good idea," Hershel conceded, "Perhaps he could try to get to know him. We could always use a few extra hands to keep the farm going."

Daryl glanced up as Dale made a choking sound in the back of his throat, but Shane spoke up, "Look, say we let him join; it's all right, maybe he's helpful, maybe he's nice. Then we let our guard down, and maybe he runs off and brings back his thirty men."

Dale looked flabbergasted, and Daryl was feeling evermore uncomfortable with the situation, his eyes flicking over to the older man who began to wave his arms around furiously, "So the answer is to kill him to prevent a crime he may never even attempt? If we do this, we're saying that there's no hope. Rule of law is dead, there is no civilisation."

"Oh, my god," Shane bemoaned. Resting heavily on the mantle as if Dale's words were causing him agony to listen to.

"It's no wonder Danny ran away," Dale continued as if Shane hadn't talked, "He was fed up! He could see right through every single one of you—"

"Danny's gone?" Daryl asked quickly. His throat felt strangely congested despite the balmy weather outside. He'd told the kid before not to wander off into the dark. Peeking through the window, he could see the sun had long begun to set.

Andrea seemed concerned for a different reason, "Did he take any of our guns?" She blurted out to Dale.

"Not that I know—"

Shane twisted and slammed his foot against the fire-grate, the metal screeching along the tiles, "I knew it! I knew from the start that that kid was nothing but a sneaky rat! He's probably gone off to find his and Randall's buddies by now!"

"Shane, you don't know that!" Lori cried.

"He's just a teenager!" Maggie yelled, "He'd never hurt anybody!"

"That kid was hiding something – we all knew it! Rick, you said from the beginning! Do you really believe that he spent four days carting around a dead girl on his back with no food, no water, no supplies and no clue on where he was going? Do you think he just happened to find us?"

"Shane, Danny told us everything he knew, he never mentioned anything about—"

"And you believed him?" Shane gave a derisive snort at Rick before thrusting an accusing finger at Hershel, "The kid had that old man eating out of the palm of his hand the moment he rattled off his sob-story. His parents are probably sitting back at our good friend, Randall's, camp right now, yakking it up while they wait for their son to come home with a big old cross marked on a map!"

"Danny wouldn't do that!" Carol burst out. It was one of the few times Daryl had heard her talk since her daughter's funeral, "He saved my daughter – he saved my little girl from becoming a monster!"

"Or he killed her," Andrea remarked morbidly, "I gotta say, Danny's story is rather sketchy. I mean, four days without any supplies? With handcuffs behind his back? And not once did he come across a walker?"

Carol gave a cross between a sob and a gasp. Daryl felt disgusted at the blonde woman's accusation.

"What? You pissed off that you didn't get a good shot at him the first time 'round? Want another go at shovin' a bullet in his head?" he sneered, "Better be point-blank this time so you don't miss."

"Good idea, Daryl," Shane said appraisingly, "It can't have been long since he took off. If T-Dog, Andrea and I head off now we might be able to catch him before he makes it back to his group."

Daryl gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. Dread was turning his stomach how straight liquor always did the morning after, "I was kiddin'!" he finally growled out.

"Would you all listen to yourselves?" Dale burst out, waving his arms as his eyes swivelled to meet each of the group's, "Here we are discussing the execution of one young man, and you're already planning to kill another – someone we know – without any sense of reason at all! Where is your humanity?"

"Danny is a good kid," Lori called from behind Rick, "And he doesn't deserve criticism from the likes of you, Andrea."

Rick nodded, but said, "Any search parties for Danny are going to have to wait, all right?" his voice bounced off the walls, "We knew from the start that he was set on finding his family—"

"But he's only fourteen! He can't defend himself alone in the woods!" Maggie argued. Carol was quietly weeping.

"No. We have to worry about the here and now. Danny's made his choice; we should respect that," Rick said adamantly, "We came here to talk about Randall, not Danny. We can think about him later."

"Yeah, to figure out who's turn it is the dig another six-feet in the yard," T-Dog muttered.

Daryl clammed his mouth shut as he stared out the window. The sun was quickly disappearing behind the trees, bursting such a deep orange across the sky that it could be mistook for blood – blackness was already trickling in from the farthest corners and the quarter moon sky gave him no reassurance that Danny would be okay. He tightened his grip on his elbows as the congested feeling welled up in his throat again.

"Dumbass," he muttered stubbornly before turning away to listen to the meeting.

…

The night had quickly deteriorated after that, as the meeting resulted in childish finger pointing and accusations being tossed across the room. Dale had thrown Danny's name out more than once in example; Daryl hadn't thought the old man was the type to guilt-trip, but it was effective, leaving a hollow feeling in his gut.

Danny was a good kid. Stubborn and annoying as hell, but overall not bad. How could he be? The brat had travelled four days by himself just to give some woman he didn't even know peace of mind. He was a better kid than Daryl had been…

His fingers had itched throughout the meeting for his crossbow and he constantly checked the tree line, hoping to catch sight of a familiar, stupid, shaggy head of white-streaked hair. But nothing ever appeared. He didn't know why he cared so much.

Rick's voice dragged him back to the meeting, and Daryl wasn't sure if he was relieved or upset when he heard him give the call to help take Randall to the barn – Shane looked ecstatic. Dale looked like he wanted to cry. He wisely kept his trap shut as he stepped out of the house and headed for the cluster of trees where his bike was stationed.

The night was warm and Daryl was happy to find that the sky was rather bright; the moonbeams sweeping across the fields, blasting away any shadows. His camp was only a couple of dozen yards from the others and he could clearly see Dale storming back and forth in front of the RV. He quickly glanced away.

A saddlebag looped over the seat of his bike held most of the supplies Daryl had filched when out on his many hunts and his crossbow was leaning innocently against the kickstand. Flipping open the bag, he scrounged though its innards, hunting for his handgun. It had been his brother's – personally he had always been one for the bow but the firearm came in handy at times.

He frowned when he didn't feel the cool metal of the piece. It should have been there. It had been there since the invasion in Atlanta.

Daryl tossed spare bandages and cans onto the ground as he hunted through the satchel, before snatching it off the bike and turning it upside down. Nothing. Not even a spare bullet.

"Daryl," he glanced up to see Rick making his way over, his own gun sitting neatly in his holster.

Daryl gave him a short nod before turning to his duffel bag by his squirrel collection, pulling out what meagre amounts of clothes and supplies he had left. Still nothing.

"You seen my piece?" he called out to Rick over his shoulder.

Rick ambled closer, peering through the fading light, "Didn't even know you had one. Maybe Andrea's tossed it in her pile. Come on, you can check the RV later. We need to take care of… business."

Reluctantly, Daryl stood up and followed Rick. The man had a grim expression on his face, the skin around his jaw taut, as they made their way toward to barn. Daryl could see Shane in the distance, hovering by the shed door, a black strip of cloth in hand.

"You don't think Danny woulda taken it, would ya?" Daryl finally asked while out of earshot of the other man.

Rick looked surprised at the question and didn't answer for a long time. They had nearly cleared the field when he finally replied, "I don't know."

Shane unlocked the shed once Daryl and Rick had reached his side. He tossed Daryl the set of keys.

"You wanna do the honours? I'd say the guy misses you the way he's been cursing your name under his breath."

Daryl caught Rick sending Shane a dark look, but he ignored it – he didn't want to get in between whatever business the two had going on. He shoved the door open to the shed. Catching sight of him, Randall gave off a miserable squeak and stumbled back into the wall.

"Please! Please don't hurt me!"

Daryl didn't say anything as Shane marched forward, snatching the front of the kid's jacket and hauled him to his feet. Daryl efficiently unclasped the chains, Rick's officer cuffs in hand as he snapped them around the boy's wrists. None of them said anything as they left the shed, Rick lead the way with a lantern; Shane stomping his way down the path beside him; and Daryl shoving Randall forward.

"H-h-hold on!" Randall burst out as they headed toward the barn. Rick pushed the heavy doors open. It still stank of decaying flesh, but Daryl ignored it like the kid's pleas to wait.

Rick pointed to the middle of the barn floor, placing the lantern by one of the horse stables, "Put him there."

Shane snatched Randall's arms up from behind him and muttered, "This'll all be over soon," wrapping the thin strip of fabric around the boy's eyes.

"What? What's going to be over soon?" Randall panicked.

"Shhh… just relax."

"Hey, hey! No! No!" Randall struggled weakly in Shane's grip, moaning, "Oh, no, no, no, no…"

Daryl could hear the hitching of the kid's breath as he wavered on the spot. Shane had backed off a far distance to watch from the sidelines as Rick stood in front of Randall, his handgun at the ready.

"Would you like to stand or kneel?" Rick said coldly. Daryl looked on, trying to ignore the sniffling from behind the blindfold.

Randall didn't answer, jumping on the spot, "Oh, no, please—!"

Daryl leapt forward, snatching the boy's shoulders and shoving him to the ground to sit on his kneecaps, tugging on his hair to angle him upright. Randall began to weep openly, his whole chest concaving as tears slid from behind the blindfold.

"Do you have any final words?" Rick asked. Always by the book, Daryl mused.

"No, please! Please, don't!"

Daryl flinched as the image in front of him suddenly morphed from Randall's cowardly figure to Danny's. Beaten and bruised, with his hair stuck up in that way that never failed to defy gravity.

Daryl cursed his imagination and turned his head away, arms crossed.

Rick lifted the gun to Randall's forehead, who gave a terrified groan as the safety clicked off, head bent and sniffling miserably. Daryl watched Rick lick his lips and shuffling his weight on his feet. This wasn't the first killing he'd witnessed (Merle's dealings had a habit, more often than not, of turning sour very quickly), and Daryl could now call himself a professional at being able to tell when a person was going to chicken out. It was still up in the air yet with Rick, but any second—

"Do it, dad," a voice echoed through the barn. Daryl twisted to see Rick's son, Carl, standing in the doorway, "Do it."

Randall burst into tears all over again, but Daryl wasn't looking – he was staring at Rick whose eyes had become wide and his skin sallow. A quick glance at Shane had him storming the length of the barn to snatch Carl's arm, dragging him into the night.

"Are you kidding me? What did I say to you? What did I say to you?"

Rick had a furious expression on his face before he practically threw the gun by his side, "Take him away," he said resolutely, his voice raspy as he stared wildly around the room, "Take him away."

Shane and Carl stood in the doorway, both wearing matching faces of shock. Daryl gave a final glance at Rick before hefting the panting Randall roughly up by his collar, "Get up."

Marching forward, he led the limping Randall back to the shed and he couldn't help but feel relieved.

…

The scream echoed through the farm.

Daryl barely thought about his actions as he snatched his hunter's knife up from the bench, ignoring Randall's muffled cries from where he was strapped to the ceiling, gagged with one of Daryl's old socks, and sped out of the shed, tearing his way across the farmland. The screaming didn't stop as he sprinted into the paddocks, he could see the others dashing their own way across from the other side, flashlights in hand.

"Dale!" he heard Andrea screech by the gate.

A pain-filled shriek of agony filled the air, and Daryl forced himself to move faster. His heart in his throat as he stumbled through the grasses, he could see movement up ahead, a humanoid figure hovering over another, and Dale's pitiful screams were dying out.

He was nearly there. He could see the walker in the moonlight, its hands stained red as it tore at Dale's entrails. He didn't hesitate. He leapt at the creature, knocking it to the side and slamming his knife into its skull to the hilt. With less than a muffled groan it fell to the ground, unmoving.

Dale lay less than five feet away. Tossing himself beside him, Daryl saw he was still breathing, his gurgled gasps threatening to snatch what little breath he had, arms flailing weakly. Daryl jumped to his feet, waving his own arms to the glowing lights in the quickly-closing distance.

"Help! Over here! Help! Run!" Dropping back to his knees, he leaned over Dale, "Hey, hold on there, buddy."

"Who is it?" he heard someone call.

Shane and the others came to a halt in front of Dale and Rick fell to his knees, muttering for Dale to hold on.

"Get Hershel!" He ordered, "Hershel! We need Hershel!"

Andrea collapsed to the ground the moment she spotted Dale, reaching out to softly grasp his face, "No, no, please, hold on, Dale!"

"Hershel!"

"Dale, we're gonna help you! Hold on, just please—"

"He's losing a lot of blood, I don't know if he'll make it!"

"Dale, Dale, you need to stay with us!"

"We need to stem the flow— maybe we could…"

"What happened?" Hershel strode forward, lowering himself to the ground, ignoring the panic behind him. Daryl watched nervously as the doctor inspected the wound.

"Can we move him?" Rick begged more than asked, but Hershel looked resolute.

"He won't make the trip."

Rick didn't catch on, "We've got to do the operation here. Glenn, get back to the house—!"

"Rick!" Hershel slammed a hand on the other man's shoulder and shook his head.

Rick stared at the old man before he shouted out to the night as Andrea and the others fell into themselves, crying and shaking as Dale's chest heaved with the effort to breathe. He was in pain. A lot of it.

Rick seemed to lose control of his legs, sinking to the ground beside Dale to stare at his writhing face. Carl had appeared by his mother's side, but Daryl didn't have the energy to pull the kid away – too scared to see what would become of Dale.

"He's suffering," Andrea choked out, "Do something!"

Rick slowly pulled his gun from his holster and shakily lifted himself to his feet. Shane and Hershel stood beside him as he drew his gun and leaned over Dale.

"Come on," Shane whispered empathetically.

"Oh, god!" Andrea cried out, shoving herself away from Dale, looking near-ready to puke.

Daryl watched Rick lift the gun for the second time that night, with the exact same expression as before. Daryl doubted that Rick had ever even had to kill somebody that wasn't shooting back. His hands shook and his face was drawn as he pointed the barrel at Dale's head. Andrea's cries grew louder and Daryl could see the strain in the others' faces as well.

Blood stained Dale's front and he struggled to move, his eyes clenched shut against the pain, but Rick was still hesitating.

Daryl's hand moved on its own as it covered Rick's, carefully tugging the gun away. Rick didn't fight it, stepping back as Daryl raised the gun to Dale's head. Kneeling beside him and resolutely clicking the safety off.

Dale turned pain-filled eyes on Daryl; they were glassy, but knowing. With a strength that Daryl didn't realise the old man still had, he lifted his head from the ground and pressed it into the end of the barrel.

Any reluctance Daryl had fled him, "Sorry brother," he mourned.

…

"Take him out to Senoia – hour there, hour back, give or take. May lose the light, but we'll be halfway home by then," Rick pointed at the map and gave Daryl a short grin.

Daryl nodded, turning to lean against the porch balustrade, "This whole pain in the ass will be a distant memory. Good riddance."

Folding up the map, Rick stood, "Carol put together some provisions for him. Enough to last a few days. And hey, who knows… maybe we'll find Danny along the way?"

Daryl raised a brow at Rick who gave him a wry smile before turning to watch as Shane's four-wheel drive tore its way through the farm gate toward the house.

"That thing you did last night…" Rick started.

Daryl ducked his head, glancing down at his mud-caked shoes, "Ain't no reason you should do all the heavy liftin'," he finally muttered out.

Rick bobbed his head in what Daryl supposed he thought was a casual manner and watched as the car turned to park. "So, you good with all this?" Rick waved the map at him, eyes still fixed on the pale teal hatchback.

"I don' see you and I tradin' haymakers on the side o' the road. Nobody'd win that fight," Rick didn't laugh, but Daryl caught the relief in his face.

The slam of the car door made Daryl glance behind him. Shane was steadily making his way toward them.

Snatching himself up, he muttered, "I'm gonna take a piss."

Daryl shoved his way into the house, ignoring the grating sound of Shane's voice – the guy had a way of putting him on edge lately and he wanted none of it.

He strode his way to the bathroom only to find the door closed. Giving the door a tap he heard the scrawny farmhand Jimmy from the other side squeak out "Occupied!"

With a grunt Daryl headed off deeper into the house. He paused by Hershel's son's room – the one he and Danny had stayed in. Carl sat on the bed, staring down at something in his hands – it looked like a photograph. He jumped when Daryl spoke.

"What're you doin' in here? Aren't you s'pposed to be with your ma?"

Carl looked petrified, scrunching up the square of paper clasped in his hand.

"What ya got there, boy?" Daryl stepped into the room to lean over Carl's shoulder.

"Nothing!" he hissed out, shoving whatever it was into his pocket, "I didn't take anything!"

Daryl blinked, "Wha'chu sayin'? Did you steal somethin'?"

"No! I didn't steal anything!" Carl practically screamed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and flinging himself out of the room and down the hall. Daryl heard the back-door slam.

Standing straight, Daryl slowly left the room, following Carl's trail through the window. He watched as the kid sprinted across the yard toward the barn, yanking the giant doors shut behind him.

"Was that Carl?" Lori stood in the doorway of the kitchen with a basket of washing under her arm.

"Yeah," Daryl muttered, "Looked like he needed some time to hisself."

He marched out the door without another word to her, snatching up his crossbow as he passed and headed for the truck. He could see T-Dog already loading the back with Carol's pre-made supplies. Without a word he began helping him load it up. His quiver was already waiting for him in the back – his supplies had dwindled to less than seventeen arrows, most of them hand-made from whittled wood with sharpened points that Daryl hoped to hell would shoot straight.

T-Dog stopped beside him and offered his handgun, "Only got so many arrows."

Daryl took the proffered gun by the barrel, "Izzat Dale's gun?"

"Yep."

"Wish I knew where the hell mine is."

Rick strode over as T-Dog slammed the back of the tray shut, "Ready?" he called.

"I'll get the package," T-Dog muttered.

"Thanks."

Daryl pulled open the door to the truck and clambered inside. The key already sat in the ignition and he gave it a hard twist, the engine roaring to life.

"Senoia, yeah? That's headin' east."

"North-east. We should be able to catch the last rays of sun that way. The roads get kinda windy up there, so it'd be harder for the boy to track his way back here."

Daryl grunted his approval, placing his crossbow on the middle-seat by the gearbox.

"You think this is the right decision?" Rick asked.

"So far all yer decisions have kept us from bein' someone's dinner. So yeah, I think this's the right one."

A cry made him glance at the rear-view mirror and he saw T-Dog pounding the dirt toward them – with Randall nowhere in sight. Shoving the door open he and Rick met T-Dog halfway.

"Randall, he's gone!"

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

"He got out of the cuffs and bolted!"

"An' broken through a solid wood door?" Daryl asked sceptically.

"I don't know, man! The shed was still locked and everything!"

Rick pressed a hand on T-Dog's shoulder, "Show me."

T-Dog motioned with his hand and Daryl and Rick followed. Andrea spotted them crossing the yard and called out.

"Weren't you supposed to leave nearly twenty minutes ago? The sun is going to set before you even make it half-way."

"Randall's gone," Daryl growled out.

Andrea gave a gasp, "What?" she turned on her heel as they passed her, following after them, "How?"

"We don't know."

Just as they reached the shed the others appeared, "What's wrong?" Maggie called out.

"Randall's missing," came the short reply.

"Missing? How?"

"For how long?"

"Where could he have gone?"

Daryl ignored their inane questions to peek around the edge of the shed, T-Dog was scratching his head in wonder beside him.

He heard Rick exiting the shed, "Cuffs are still hooked, he must've slipped 'em."

"Is that possible?" Carol asked.

"It is when you've got nothing to lose," Andrea replied.

Hershel swung the door back and forth on its hinges, testing it, "The door was secured from the outside."

"Rick!" came a thunderous yell, "Rick!"

Daryl turned to see a bloodied Shane storming out from the woods – his nose was swollen and crooked and his shirt-front was stained red.

"What happened?" Lori yelled. The group strode forward to meet Shane halfway.

"He's gone! He's got my gun!"

"Are you okay?" Carol cried.

"I'm fine! Little bastard just snuck up on me – clocked me in the face!"

"Randall did?" Rick asked.

Shane shook his head, "No – Danny! I told you that little weasel was working on the sly! Snuck in here and broke Randall out – must've known the padlock code and e'rything!"

Rick spun on his heel, "All right, Hershel, T-Dog, get everybody back in the house! Glen, Daryl, come with us!"

Shocked, Daryl snatched up his crossbow and quiver, pulling an arrow taut on its string.

"T, I'm gonna need that gun!" Shane called out, snatching it from the other man's grip.

"Just let him go. That was the plan, wasn't it? To let him go?" Carol asked, panicked.

"The plan was to cut Randall loose far away from here, not on our front step with a gun! And definitely not with someone who knows our group inside out! Danny knows where we keep our weapons, he knows how many supplies we have and he knows how many people are here – we cannot cut them free now!"

"Are you sure it was Danny?" Beth called out, "Maybe it was just someone that looked like him!"

Shane stumbled forward, looking slightly concussed as he shoved T-Dog's gun into the waistband of his pants, "And somehow that person knew exactly where Randall was and how to break him out without nobody seeing him? I don't think so."

"Randall knew who Danny was!" Carl blurted out beside Lori.

Rick stopped in his pacing to look at his son, "What? He knew Danny?"

Carl looked uncertain, "Randall said that there were men in his group – from the army. They were looking for Danny, for a mission or something."

"The army?" Rick parroted looking dumbstruck.

Lori placed a soothing hand on Carl's shoulder, "When was this?"

Carl shook on the spot under the scrutinising stares, quietly admitting, "I wanted to see Randall for myself, so I snuck into the shed… Danny followed me and they talked. I'm really sorry, I know you didn't want me around Randall, but I—"

Lori grasped Carl by the shoulders and threw him into a tight hug, "Shhh… It's okay, baby, it's okay."

"What type o' mission?" Daryl asked.

Carl glanced up from his mother's arms, "I don't know… Randall said that they had his picture, and that he was really important."

Rick, checked the bullets in his gun and lightly smacked Glenn in the shoulder, motioning him to follow, "Go inside, Carl. And don't leave the house."

"Wait, you can't go out there now!" Carol gave one last cry, "You don't know what could happen!"

Daryl hoisted his crossbow higher up on his shoulder as Ricked called back to Hershel, "Get everybody back in the house! Lock all the doors, and stay put!"

Glenn and Daryl trailed after Rick and Shane as they stormed their way through the thin forestry. Shane pointed off to the left, deeper into the woods.

"I saw him head up through the trees with Randall that way before I blacked out! Not sure how long…"

"Couldn't have gotten far," Rick said, "Randall's hobbling, exhausted. And if Danny went to all that effort to grab him, he wouldn't have just left him behind."

"He's armed," Glenn brought to attention.

"So are we. Can you track them?" Rick asked Daryl.

Daryl stared at the floor, "Naw, I don' see nothin'."

"Hey, look, there ain' no use of tracking them, okay? They went that way, we just need to pair up and spread out," Shane ordered, "We should just spread out and chase 'em down, that's it."

Something niggled at the back of Daryl's brains at those words. Shane had never hesitated to use Daryl for tracking before; he'd taken full advantage of him back when they had camped up on the mountain – whether it be for stag-hunting or walker-spotting.

He watched the man out of the corner of his eye who stumbled about like a deranged mad-man.

"You tellin' us some scrawny lil' ninety-pounds of nothin' got the jump on you?" Daryl called out sceptically.

Shane scowled past his crushed nose, "I say a rock pretty much evens those odds, wouldn't you?"

"Alright, alright, knock it off!" Rick ordered, pointing at Daryl he gestured to the clear forest, "You and Glenn take the right, let me and Shane take the left. Remember, Randall and Danny aren't the only threats out there. Keep an eye on each other."

Daryl sneered at the quickly disappearing pair. Glenn looked nervous, "Do you really think Danny would do this?"

"I dunno. Don' know much 'bout the kid to start with. Let's go find out," he turned on his heel and marched his way through the forest, head bent to the earthy floor, "Keep your eyes on the horizon for me, man. I've got down here."

Glenn didn't reply as they made their way deeper into the forest. The ground was quickly becoming streaked in deep shadows and before Daryl knew it night had enveloped the pair.

Daryl heaved a sigh, his breath wavering in front of him with the chill, "This is pointless. Gimme that light."

Glenn willingly handed over his torch and Daryl clicked it on, holding it level to his head. There was nothing.

Giving an annoyed groan, he pushed back the way he came, Glenn trailing behind him.

He didn't stop when he caught sight of a familiar-looking cluster of trees.

"We're back to square one," Glenn stated.

"If we're gonna do a thing, might as well do it right," Daryl directed the light across the ground in a swooping arch, checking the ground thoroughly, until something caught the corner of his eye, "Hold on… two sets of tracks righ' here. Shane must've followed him along a lot longer than he said."

"Followed who? Danny or Randall?" Glenn asked.

Daryl pointed at the ground with the light, "The right foot looks to 'ave been draggin'. With Randall walkin' 'bout like a three-legged spider, I'm gonna 'ave a guess at him."

"Well if Shane was following Randall, where was Danny?"

Daryl didn't reply as he followed the tracks to the base of a tree, lifting the light to trail across the bark. Dark splotches of red liquid coated the trunk, only partially dry.

"There's blood on this tree."

Dragging the torch back to the ground, he nodded his head, gesturing for Glenn to look, "There's more tracks. It's like they're walkin' in tandem."

"Only two?" Glenn asked, "Well maybe one of them is Danny?"

Daryl paused as he scoped the ground, double checking wherever his light fell, "Feet are too big. Nope, these are definitely Shane's."

Glenn bumped into him and Daryl glanced up to see the boy's face was sallow with fear, "Sorry," Glenn muttered quickly.

Daryl rolled his eyes before pointing at the earth, "There's a little dust up right here."

"What does that mean?"

"Means somethin' went down," Daryl stated. The ground was suspiciously free of leaves, and an imprint of cloth was left in the dust, like someone had tripped, or fallen.

Glenn stated the obvious, "This is getting weird."

Daryl stalked forward and grinned wryly, "Hello, trouble," he announced, catching sight of a familiar strip of black cloth. The duct tape that had sealed Randall's mouth was right beside it. Glenn picked up the strip and held it in the moonlight, only to drop it when a twig snapped from somewhere behind them.

They bolted. There were a pair of trees up ahead – Daryl shoved Glenn to the right one as he ducked behind the left. Slamming his back against the bark, he held his breath and willed the blood in his ears to quieten. Sneaking a look around the edge, Daryl caught sight of a walker a few dozen yards away. He gave Glenn a quick whistle, tossing a machete hook to him.

Hoisting his crossbow firmer in his grip, he peeked back around the trunk. But by then the walker had disappeared.

Glenn gave a soft yell as the walker suddenly threw itself at him with a gargled snarl, and Daryl shot an arrow at it; the thin stick of wood jamming itself deep into it chest, but it didn't flinch as it turned to Daryl. He shoved his crossbow out in front as the walker went to tackle him. The sturdy metal fending off the walker's dead-weight as it attempted to claw off his face.

Daryl was shoved back into the tree by the brutal force of the walker, falling to the seat of his pants as it snarled its blunt teeth at him. Glenn snatched it from behind, heaving the walker to the ground in a grappling hold before rolling it over. His arm flung out and he brought the machete down heavily, splitting the walker's skull.

It gave out a whimpering groan and moved no more.

Daryl grabbed the torch that had fallen to the ground and shone it on the walker. There, lying stagnant, was the warped remains of Randall.

Daryl slapped Glenn in the chest, "Nice," he said to the panting boy and crouched on his knees for a closer look.

Inspecting his wrists and ankles, he found them clean, so he moved the collar of his shirt out of the way. There, nearly threatening to pierce the clammy skin, was the obvious protrusion of bone where a disk had been painfully shoved out of the vertebrae, "Got his neck broke," he commented for Glenn's sake.

He shoved the body over and lifted his shirt, checking his back, "He's got no bites."

"None you can see," Glenn said, crouching down next to him.

Daryl sat back on his heels, waving the torch across the length of Randall's body, "No. I'm tellin' ya, he died from this."

He threw a confused look at Glenn, who offered the same one back.

"How is that possible?" the boy asked.

"I dunno, but I'm thinkin' that Danny was never here," Daryl stood up, snatching the machete and jogging through the trees back toward the house, Glenn trailing right behind him.

…

"Shoot!"

With a sharp curse, Danny stumbled over another rock. The dirt road was littered with loose stones left over from tyre tracks and livestock crossings. The nights were always the hardest to travel in, but it was too risky to set up camp anywhere, not with all the flesh-feasters crawling about – he'd found out the hard way that they were always up for a midnight snack.

Danny bit back another yawn. The winter solstice would be only a couple of months away and the days were quickly getting shorter. Two days of endless walking, following the waning sun had him feeling the long nights. His backpack no longer clanked with the heavy sound of cans; the meagre supplies he had stolen were almost nearly gone and more than once he considered going back to the farm for more.

Corn stalks littered one side of the abandoned road, while the other was thick with natural vegetation. It was quiet; cicadas chirped a low tune and every so often he could hear the groans of walkers slipping in and out of the forest, but Danny was always quick to hide whenever one got too close to the trees' borders. He hadn't had to face one yet, but his hand hovered over the kitchen knife looped into the belt of his jeans.

'What is that?'

The cicadas had stopped chirping, their song replaced by a low thrum that seemed to vibrate through the air, so quiet that at first that Danny thought he had imagined it. It sounded like the rolling of thunder in the distance, but the noise was moving too quickly. It almost sounded like…

"Hey!" Danny yelled, dropping his hand from his waist to wave his hands wildly into the night sky, "Over here! Hey, help!"

The helicopter breached over the top of the forest, sending leaves and branches swaying in the coarse winds, it's searchlight pierced the sky in the near distance, languidly dragging its way across the ground. Danny waved again with another yell, hoping to gain the chopper's attention in the near-dark. The spotlight paused for a moment before quickly dashing across the ground toward him, absorbing him into the circle of light. The brightness pierced his eyelids and he raised a hand to block it.

A booming voice echoed through the grounds, "Daniel Fenton."

Danny let out a gasp. These people knew who he was – maybe they could help him find his family!

"By the standing of the United States of America's Army and the Genome Indisposition Withdrawal division, we are detaining you until due notice," announced the voice, "If you choose to flee, we will be forced to pursue you by whatever means necessary."

Oh.

Danny dove for the corn field, hoping to lose them in the overgrown crops, but a loud call of "Fire!" followed by a flurry of bullets hammered into the ground in front of him, kicking up a cloud of dirt. Danny screamed, ducking his head and veering off toward the forest.

Walkers were beginning to appear through the trees, mouths gaping in excitement from the commotion, boxing him in. Danny moaned, a muffled cry from behind sealed lips as the helicopter turned on the spot as someone yelled orders, but he wasn't listening – his mind was moving both too fast and too slow for him to think straight.

Sluggishly his mind pieced together an idea; if he could make it past those walkers and into the forest, he might have a chance of losing the chopper. If Randall was telling the truth about the officers back at his camp, he was sure he wanted nothing to do with these guys.

The walkers were getting closer now, but the men up above were quick to shoot the nearest ones down, stopping them in arms-reach of Danny. Another thought came to mind; whatever these people needed him for they needed him alive.

He dove for the tree-line as the chopper twisted to take out another drove of flesh-feasters, ducking underneath the arms of a biter who was a little too close for comfort with a sarcastic laugh. The bullets had stopped firing.

"Under the order of the United States Army, halt!" cried the voice from the helicopter, "Cease fire, you idiots! We can't risk shooting him! Halt!"

Danny simply gave them a grin before sprinting into the darkness. He could feel the exhilaration running through him like lightning, sending the fine hairs on him arms standing on end as he feet beat harder and faster against the forest floor with energy he had never felt before. He ran so fast his feet barely skimmed the ground, zipping through the foliage with ease. Branches seemed the fly straight through him, the harsh whipping of twigs and underbrush absent as he flung himself down a steep hill, landing lightly on his heels. He couldn't tell if he had been running for minutes or hours – time seemed to slow down and speed up constantly in a swirl of excitement and fear.

The helicopter roared overhead in the near distance, circling the sky with its blinding spotlight. The groaning of biters grew the further he ran, drawn to the sound of the rotors as they dragged themselves from the darkness – but Danny didn't care as he swept passed a particularly dim-witted walker who gaped stupidly at him. Exhilaration filled his lungs as his feet flittered over the ground. He was about to breach the forest, the moonlight filtering through the leaves coaxingly.

The trees thinned out as he plundered through the edge, the momentum sending him almost a hundred yards before he could stop himself from tumbling over a sturdy-looking fence. He stared onto the familiar fields that housed the Greene family and their guests. He was back where he started.

"No…" Danny mumbled. It wasn't possible. He had walked for two days straight; his feet had the blisters to prove it.

He gave a shriek of anger, ramming his foot against a nearby post, "No!" This. Cannot. Be. Happening!"

He emphasised each word with a sharp kick to the post. The wood rattling violently under the pressure – until the thick, foot-wide beam snapped in half, sending the fence toppling to the ground.

He didn't have time to think of his show of strength when the sound of the helicopter flew overhead. Danny gave a terrified gasp glancing around for somewhere – anywhere – to hide; but the forest was already half a field away. Panic swept over him and his knees gave out, sending him tumbling onto the ground next to the broken fence, petrified.

Danny clasped his hands over his ears and slammed his eyes shut, tucking himself into a ball, hoping beyond all else that they wouldn't see him. He could hear the helicopter edging closer, the long grass whipped at his cheeks like nine-tails as the wind rushed by his ears. White blinded his vision even with his eyes slammed tightly shut as the beam landed on him. The desperate want to hide hunched his back even further as he tucked his head between his knees, ribs aching in his chest as he held his breath.

But just as suddenly as the light appeared, it swept past him, hunting through the long stalks of wheat off into the distance. Danny slowly opened his eyes, staring at the fading silhouette of the helicopter as it flew past the Greene farm into the night. He unfurled his limbs, his chest still sore as he let out an exhausted sigh. He stood slowly on unbalanced limbs, feeling out of sorts.

They had seen him. The had to have – their searchlight had gone right over him, but it was like he had been invisible.

A growl from behind him pulled him from his thoughts and Danny whirled around, staring into the forest with water-soaked eyes. More groans echoed from the forest and he trembled slightly as a wall of walkers crept their way forward through the trees. They moved like leper soldiers, dragging their limbs across the field.

Danny made a strangling sound in the back of his throat, and some of the closer walkers glanced up, teeth bared in hunger as they struggled forward. He ignored his wobbly legs and leapt over the broken fence, running across Hershel's paddock – if he could make it to the far side, he'd be able to reach the partitioning stream to safety!

He chanced a look over his shoulder and let out a gargle of fright –walkers were flooding the farmlands like a barricade of hundreds of rotting bodies.

'What about the others?' a voice asked in the back of his mind. Daryl and Rick and Carl and Carol and everyone else… Nobody would survive the herd.

His breath hitched as he sped up again, leaping over fox-holes as he beat his way to the dirt driveway. This was his fault – if he hadn't called out to the helicopter; if they hadn't followed him – if he wasn't such a freak – the walkers wouldn't have been attracted in the first place.

A gunshot echoed in the distance, and Danny jumped at the sound. Wildly looking around, He tried to silence his breathing, ears pricked, but his blood pounded too loudly in his skull for him to hear. Not wanting to risk a walker pouncing on him, he dashed the last few-hundred feet to the house, clambering his way up the porch to the door. Exhaustion hit him like a steam train to his two-day weary body. His legs had turned to jelly and his heart physically ached in his chest under the strain as he slumped against the door. He weakly slammed his palm against it, struggling for breath.

"Hey!" he cried in less than a whisper, "Hey, open up!"

The door was suddenly pulled open and Danny fell right into the arms of a shocked Lori, who nearly dropped him.

"Danny?" Lori cried.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" a gun was suddenly shoved in his line of sight, and Danny blinked down the barrel.

"Andrea, no! Don't hurt him!" Danny recognised Glenn's voice.

"'Don't hurt him'? Glenn, this kid is the reason why Shane and Rick are still out there! He's the reason Randall escaped!"

"What? Randall ran?" Danny rasped out.

The gun was knocked away from his face, "Danny ain't got shit t' do with this. Shane set 'im up to take the fall," a new voice called. Danny glanced up to see Daryl standing next to Andrea, gun held out of reach of the trigger-happy woman.

"Why would he do that?" T-Dog asked from further in the house.

"He's got his reasons, I'm guessin'," he looked at Danny, "What're ya doin' here? Thought you'd 've been long-gone by now."

Danny shoved himself to his knees, ignoring the wary look Andrea threw his way, "Walkers… hundreds... Coming this way."

"Walkers?" Lori gasped, "Rick and Shane are still out there!"

"They were probably the ones who fired the gun," Andrea said, hauling Danny to his feet, "Did you see them?"

Danny shook his head, "It was too dark. I took the main gate – the walkers are coming from over there!" Danny pointed an arm out to the left toward the barn and the others squinted. Black silhouettes were quickly stumbling their way out of the dark.

"What should we do?" Carol burst out.

"We need to get out of here! There's no way we can take on that many walkers!" Glenn panicked.

"And what? Leave Shane and Rick behind? We can't do that, what if they're—?"

Lori had disappeared into the depths of house, only to come crashing back into the living room, "I can't find Carl!"

"What do you mean you can't find him?" Maggie asked.

Lori was shaking, her eyes wet as she near-screamed, "He was supposed to be upstairs in his room, but he's gone!"

"Come on, we'll help you look," Andrea grabbed Lori's wrist and pulled her inside, the other women following after.

"And what are we supposed to do about this mess?" T-Dog asked.

"Grab the guns – as many as you can hold!" Hershel strode forward, shotgun already in hand.

Daryl looked impressed, "You're gonna take 'em all on or somethin'?"

Hershel cocked his shotgun, "This is my farm, I'll die here."

"All righ'. As good a night to die as any," Daryl said, slinging crossbow on his back and snatching his gun at the ready. He leaped over the decking onto the hard ground before calling out to Danny, "Ever shot a gun before, kid?"

"No," Danny wheezed, stumbling down the steps following Daryl, "I'm pretty good at laser-tag, though."

"Close enough. Come on, you're ridin' pillion on this one," Daryl hustled Danny over the monster of a bike, shoving a pistol into his hand along with a pocketful of shells. Daryl lifted his leg over the motorcycle and twisted the key into the ignition, making it roar to life.

"Why do you trust me?" Danny asked Daryl, fiddling with the pistol in his hand, "I mean, after what Andrea said—"

Daryl snorted, "Damn woman don't even believe that chupacabras are real – she don't know shit. You're not bad, Danny – a god-damn pain in the ass… But, t' be fair I never met a kid that ain'."

Danny choked out a laugh and swung his leg over the motorcycle seat, shuffling to get comfortable as he grasped the back of the bike with one fist. Daryl lifted his hands far above his head to reach the handlebars and rev the engine. The bike growled under his attention and Danny couldn't help the gleeful grin that spread across his face.

"Less time admirin', more time shootin', kid," Daryl said smarmily over his shoulder and pushed the bike off into the dark, nearly sending Danny tumbling from his seat.

"You know, I only came here to warn you guys, I should be halfway home by now," he called over the engine once he'd gathered his wits.

"Like hell you would've walked away, you're too stupid-loyal for that. Walker on your left," Daryl called.

Danny raised the gun and pulled the trigger, holding the gun steady against the recoil. The bullet hammered its way deep into the walker's skull.

"Nice shot. You sure you only played laser-tag for that trigger-finger?"

"I held the longest-standing record in the arcade. And, well, you could call my mum a weapons expert, sort of." Danny pointed the gun at another walker's head. It went down. Daryl bore a wide circle around the front of the house, revving the transmission up to third as they made their way across the farmland. He slowed down beside a rather thick cluster and whipped out his own gun, firing at walkers who fell down without complaint. Fourteen more died by their hand. Danny counted.

He gasped as the barn suddenly burst into flames on the far side of the farm.

"Might've been Rick who started tha' fire!" Daryl cursed and poked Danny in the shoulder with the butt of his gun, "We gotta head for the RV!"

Daryl dragged the bike around, narrowly missing a woman in a nightgown as she leapt for his throat (and was quickly shot by Danny), and sped toward the campervan.

He shoved Danny off when they came to a stop beside it, "Get back to the house an' help the others – I've got this covered!"

Danny gave a quick salute before dashing back toward the house. Walkers were already becoming attracted to the sound of Hershel's gun, more popping up faster than the man could shoot.

"Hershel!" Danny yelled, ducking under the spread arms of a nearby walker, "Hershel!"

The man didn't regard Danny at all, so Danny snatched a spare rifle off the porch, squaring his shoulders and pulling back the bolt, raising it to eye level. Crack!

Oh, yeah. Double-kill. There was a reason he held the reigning laser-tag title for so long.

Pulling the bolt again, the shell sprung free from its chamber and clattered to the ground. He ignored it to aim at another walker. Crack!

Again and again, walkers fell at their feet. Hershel stood next to him, but Danny wasn't even sure the man realised he was there. He vaguely heard Lori screaming at them, but he couldn't risk taking his eyes off the looming group of undead. Hershel began backing up as his gun fell empty, fingers shaking too hard to line up the shells. Danny pulled back the bolt again, sending another bullet into the skull of a walker.

He cursed when he tried to pull back the pin again only to find it jammed.

The walkers were closing in quickly so Danny twisted the rifle like a bat, dogging Hershel's footsteps. He swept the gun at a nearby walker, the end of it ramming itself into a walker's eye socket right into its brain. Danny grimaced as he shoved it off with his foot – the end of the gun was soaked in a gluggy black-brown liquid.

A gunshot went off behind him, and Danny spun on the spot to find Rick and Carl had arrived, taking down a walker who had snuck up behind Hershel.

"Come on!" Rick yelled, shoving Hershel toward one of the many stationed cars, Carl striding across the grass after his father.

Danny made to follow them, but a walker wearing a surgeon's mask stopped him in his tracks, snarling down at him. More were quickly following, separating him from Rick, Carl and Hershel.

"Wait! You have to help the boy!" he heard Hershel yell.

Danny swung at another walker as it leapt for his arm, cracking its skull in two, "Hershel!" he screamed, panicked. The crowd of walkers were becoming too thick for Danny to even see them anymore.

"Go help him!" Hershel cried valiantly.

Danny's heart dropped when he heard Rick yell, "There's too many! We have to go, now!"

Danny swung the gun again, trying to press his way through the ever-growing crowd of walkers, "No, wait! Hershel! Rick! Please, wait!"

A walker barely missed tearing the flesh off Danny's wrist, and the boy stumbled back out of its grasp. The roar of an engine met his ears before a large red station wagon screeched its way past him.

"Wait!" he screamed. But the car didn't stop; its single taillight floating up the dirt driveway and into the distance.

Danny flung the gun at the closest walker and ran, pounding his way across the grass. The tool shed was up ahead – if he snuck up through the rafters he might be able to grab something to help him inside—

A scream pierced the air and Danny watched as Carol dashed to the other side of the shed, stumbling over the uneven grass as she wept uselessly.

"Hey, don't! You'll get trapped!" Danny called, but the woman was deaf to his warnings. Walkers swarmed her from either side – she was shaking so badly that she looked near ready to collapse.

Danny scrambled on the top of the stacked woodpile, shoving his way into the high rafters through the miniscule hole he and Carl had escaped through before. He leapt from the beams onto the haystack and ran to a locked wooden cabinet sitting neatly in the far corner.

The metal on the lock had long-since rusted away and was covered in dust. He yanked the doors open and reached inside, ignoring the multitude of items that crashed to the floor stuffed inside from long years of neglect and uselessness. A long-armed Kaiser axe met his left hand, while his other clasped around the grip of a nail-gun.

He bolted to the door, swinging it open to find a tearful Carol as walkers hurried their way over to her. He stepped beside her, nudging her with his elbow and wincing when she shrieked in terror.

"Take this!" he offered her the nail-gun, "Carol, take it!"

The woman shook her head furiously, her hands rising to cover her mouth in horror, but Danny persisted.

"Carol! Take the gun!"

"I can't!" she shrieked back. Danny struggled to understand what she said with the strong waver in her voice. She was close to keeling over on the spot.

With a furious growl, Danny shoved the gun into her hands to grip the Kaiser axe better. Two walkers appeared beside him and he pressed his arm to move. The axe wedged itself into the closest walker's head, but the blade had long become blunt. It made a gruesome sucking sound as Danny tried to tug it free, but it was wedged tight. The other walker would have grinned in glee if its facial muscles hadn't deteriorated so badly.

"Carol, help! Shoot it!" he called, pulling furiously on the axe. The woman stared at him before turning to look at the walker and shook her head, "Carol! Help me— Shoot it! Give me the gun! Do something!"

Carol didn't seem to be listening, too lost to see Danny's desperation. She gave a shriek as the walker pounced, knocking Danny back through the door and sending him tumbling to the ground. Blackened saliva dripped from its jaws before blunt teeth met the exposed skin up his bicep. Danny shrieked in agony as he watched a mixture of blood, sinew and muscle torn clean off and swallowed whole. The walker didn't let go of its feast though, jamming its teeth so deep into his skin that Danny could feel it scraping bone, trying to snap it to reach the marrow inside.

"Carol!" he cried again, desperately, "Carol!"

But the woman was gone – the doorway flooding with more and more walkers each as hungry as the last as they stumbled their way toward him.

He pounded weakly on the side of the walker's head as it snarled happily at him, eyes locking on his own. Blood poured freely from the wound, squirting into its mouth. He was becoming delirious, his head felt light, but the pain swept through his veins like bolts of lightning. He waved his free hand out, trying to grip something – anything – that could help him.

But there was nothing. His hand touched only dirt and sawdust. He screamed as another walker fell to its knees, digging its teeth into his shin, pulling stringy sinew and tendons free of its fleshy prison which it chewed on happily. He was going to die here – alone. Eaten alive by cannibalistic monsters. He'd never get to see any of his family or friends again. His last memory would be this dingy shed with no one there. He didn't want that. He didn't want to be alone.

He cried when the darkness asked to keep him company.

Then… there was nothing.

…

"Ya aw'righ' back there?" Daryl called over his shoulder.

Carol gave a short nod, hands tightly gripping the seat of the motorcycle, nervously glancing behind her.

The trail they drove on away from the farm was barely that, a narrow stretch of dirt filled with holes and a couple of worn-down tyre marks. The morning fog made it difficult to see through as Daryl catapulted them through the undergrowth, the bike's high-beam near useless in the grey light.

He couldn't see the farm anymore. The blaze of the barn and the walkers that had followed had long since been left behind. Daryl knew where he was going though, he had talked to Rick in passing of it when they first came to the farm. Mentioning the possibility of maybe (just maybe) heading to the highway and heading east after the winter had passed and the food source dried up. That's where the others would go.

Carol was quiet from her spot, but Daryl chalked that up to nerves – the woman had obviously never ridden a motorcycle before… could have also been being chased by a mob of bloodthirsty walkers, but Daryl chose to ignore that fact.

Pretty soon the sun was baring down on them. He could feel the heat of its rays against the nape of his neck, leading him east – there was a gravel road not too far ahead, the thin trail he was driving on weaving its way through the trees to meet it. A green, blood-stained seven-seater peeled its way down the path in front of him, and Daryl revved his engine, urging the bike to go faster as he swept onto the road and followed the familiar taillights. A hand rose up through the rear window in a friendly wave and Daryl recognised the mop of black hair, giving Glenn a short nod in reply.

They came across a blue pickup truck shortly after, meeting at a parallel road to join theirs. The walkers had thinned out, migrating in the direction of the farm, away from the highway ahead. The pickup lead the way, weaving through abandoned cars and dead walkers up to the meeting point. The sun had long since risen when Daryl caught sight of the red truck, as battered and bruised as the rest of them – Hershel was there, along with Rick and his boy, staring stupidly as they drove past. Not that he could blame them.

He turned the handlebars, crossing the short yet steep valley that separated each side of the road and slowed the bike to a stop. Rick leaned over, slapping his hand in comradery before rushing over to his wife who had flown out of the pickup like a walker was on her ass, crashing into Carl with tears and prayers. Daryl looked away.

He lowered his arms slowly, feeling the familiar ache that came from riding for a long time. Carol had leapt off before the bike had even stopped, grasping the back of a nearby station wagon, looking nauseous.

Rick pulled away from his family and turned to Daryl, "Where'd you find everyone?"

Daryl pulled himself off the bike with a grunt, "Boy's got his taillights zig-zagging all over the road. Figured he'd have to be Asian drivin' like that."

Glen gave a short, sarcastic chuckle, "Good one."

"Where's the rest o' us?"

"We're the only ones who made it so far," Rick said solemnly.

"Shane?" Lori quickly asked. Rick shook his head. Daryl watched the emotions flitter across the woman's face – he'd heard stories about them back at the camp before Lori found her husband. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was thinking.

"Andrea?" Glenn asked.

Carol murmured under her breath so softly Daryl barely heard her, "She came to help me, before—"

"I saw her go down," T-Dog said, hanging from the door of the pickup.

"Patricia?" Hershel asked. Beth shook her head softly.

"They got her too. Took her right from my hand – I was holdin' onto her, daddy, she just…" Beth burst into a new flood of tears before mumbling out, "What about Jimmy? Did you see Jimmy?"

"He was in the RV. It got overrun," Rick said, matter of fact. Hershel grabbed onto his youngest when she curled into him, sobbing.

"You definitely saw Andrea?" Carol asked.

"There were walkers everywhere," Lori said.

"Did you see her?" Carol pushed.

"What about Danny?" Carl asked. Daryl's head snapped up at the name, and glanced around at the abandoned highway, waiting to catch sight of the teenager as if he had snuck in on the back of the pickup or something.

Carol made a soft noise in the back of her throat and Daryl and the others turned to her.

She tugged harder at the sleeves of her cardigan, "Danny… He— he came to help m-me when I was... H-he was begging me to shoot them… to help him… a-a-and I couldn't! A-a-and the walkers… they… I c-could hear him screaming!"

Stupid kid. Stupid, god-damn loyal brat.

The loosened knot in Daryl's chest was twisted into a tangled mess before it was yanked back taut worse than ever, "I'm gonna go back," he muttered, reaching for the handlebars of his bike.

"No," Rick said sternly.

"We can't just leave 'em," Daryl began to feel a little frustrated. He couldn't imagine Danny dead – the kid had been through too much to just be taken down by a few stray walkers behind the run-down back houses, and Andrea was too smart to ever be caught in the first place.

Glenn called out, "How do we know if Andrea's even there? Or if there's anything left of the others?"

"She isn't… she isn't there," Rick said pointedly, "She's somewhere else or dead. There's no way to find her."

"You're not even going to look for her?"

"We gotta keep moving. There'll be walkers crawling all over here."

"Well what about Patricia? And Jimmy? And Danny? Are we just going to leave them there?" Maggie asked.

"We haven't got a choice. We can't help those that are already dead."

Something sunk deep in Daryl's guts at Rick's words. Dead. Danny was dead. Gone. Forever. He didn't deserve it – no one in the group really did – but something about hearing that Danny was gone made Daryl want to throw up; the kid had come back to help them, but they'd gone and left him behind despite. He glanced over at Carol who was refusing to look at anyone.

"I say we head east," T-Dog stated.

Daryl heaved a sigh, trying to settle his stomach and snatched up his crossbow, "Stay off the main roads," he suggested, "The bigger the road the more assholes like this."

He raised his crossbow at a walker that was trudging its way down the highway toward them, receding hairline and argyle sweater with pressed trousers; he was just the rich-man yuppie type that Merle always liked to prey on, before everything went to high hell.

"I got 'im."

The arrow flew true, lodging itself deep into the walker's unseeing eye, sending it tumbling to the ground.

The others didn't say anything, packing what little they had into the remaining cars and ducking inside. Daryl shouldered his crossbow and looped his leg back over the bike seat, Carol moving to sit behind him. She gave him a wan smile, but didn't meet his eyes and he grunted, kicking the motorcycle into gear and tearing off the highway without once looking back.

…

 _Thanks for being patient with this story, I went away on holiday overseas with no internet connection, only to return to discover my computer had committed itself with the blue-screen of death. Thank goodness I've learnt to back things up on cloud over the years._


	4. Sprint

**Chapter 4: Sprint**

Jaywalking: _(intransitive) to c ross a street at a place other than a regulated crossing or in a heedless and reckless manner._

…

"Whiskey, one-two. Whiskey, one-two, do you copy?"

Static echoed through the radio as the wind swept past their ears at a blazing speed. The ground below appeared desolate and small; no sign of movement – at least none that was still _living_. The steady thrum of the helicopter's rotor drowned out every other sound, snatching it away with the wind.

"Franklin, you see anything?" Welles, the pilot, asked.

"Negatory. Got scopes on nothin' but trees and dead ones."

Welles threw him a look over his shoulder, "Well keep looking. We're reaching just about a hundred-mile perimeter. The kid can't have gone too far on foot."

"You're kidding, right? We've been hunting for him for nearly eight months! We don't even know if he's still alive!"

"The boy is killer at hide and seek. He's made the royal guard look like idiots."

"You think he found someone to hunker down with?" Rogers asked from next to Franklin, an automatic sitting primly on his lap.

Franklin stared back through the scope as he muttered out, "Doubt it. Pearson had reported that his men picked him up in the middle of Knoxville, wandering about trying to find his dead family. Said he was the stupid type. Doesn't play nice with others."

"Why are we even chasing after this kid anyway? Benning's overrun – game over, man!" Rogers cried from next to him, "We should be looking for food or water or something – not looking for some scrawny kid!"

Franklin shrugged from underneath the heavy camouflage coat, reaching for a thick manila folder tucked underneath his seat, flicking through it carefully to stop the loose sheets of paper from fluttering out the helicopter's sides, "The boss-man at the labs is keeping his lips sealed on this one. Not really sure why. We've only got basics here; birthday, family members, school grades – there's a bit at the back full of… I don't know what this mess of jargon is. Blood test results, maybe?"

"Probably all the important stuff. Typical lab nerds, don't know how to speak proper English even when the world is ending."

"They say he was bitten but didn't turn," Welles said conspiratorially.

Rogers rolled his eyes, "Yeah, right."

"It's true! Karpowicz told me before we headed out – he overheard some of the commanders talking after Daley and Rodriguez made it back to camp. Told them that the kid had been bit for over two days!"

"Bull!" Rogers spat.

"It's true! Rodriguez—!"

"Shut up, both of you!" Franklin snapped, wedging the folder into the crease of his chair's arm, "I can't concentrate while you both gossip like washed-up beauty queens, all right? Besides, it doesn't matter why the higher-ups want the kid; he's top priority and that's all we need to know."

Welles couldn't seem to be able to let it go, "Well, yeah, but if it was true—"

The helicopter gave out a loud, long groan making the three men jump.

"What was that?" Rogers yelled.

"The wind's a bit rough up here, dragging on the rotor a little too hard, I think," Welles replied, "Nothing to worry about. I've got this under control…"

The helicopter gave another loud groan followed by a succession of pops, which rattled in the army-men's ears. Something sparked on the dashboard, making the pilot yelp.

"Welles?" Franklin called, but Welles didn't reply as the sound of metal scraping against metal cut through the air. Welles gripped the pilot-stick like a lifeline as the helicopter began to weave and dodge out of the air. Franklin could smell smoke and a glance out of the open panels brought him to attention the acrid black that was billowing out from the rotor.

The helicopter gave a dangerous dip and he could see Welles sweating where he sat, pressing furiously at buttons and flicking switches, "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!"

Rogers leapt forward in his seat, snatching the mouthpiece to the wired radio console and jamming the button down, "Home base this is Sean Rogers, we are facing a highly dangerous mechanical failure and will need immediate assistance. I repeat; immediate assistance is required. Our coordinates are 33.3019 degrees to 84.55—"

"We're going in hard!"

Franklin gave a loud shriek as the helicopter plummeted from the sky.

…

Philip Blake hopped out of the back of the SUV and wandered toward the wreckage. The chopper was still smoking where it lay and the heat that rolled off the searing metal made sweat trickle down his temples uncomfortably.

"Fan out," he ordered. His men quickly swarmed the area, checking around trees and rocks, weapons at the ready.

One of his men levelled a gun at a biter that crept its way into the clearing and Philip had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at his stupidity. New recruits were always a nightmare to bring along to a search and retrieve – always trying to prove themselves. This newbie didn't have enough brains for even the biters to chew on.

"Save those rounds for when you need them."

The rest of the team moved with efficiency; he didn't even have to look to know. Martinez seemed especially keen to practice his batting hand. The squelching thuds spoke for his good aim.

Philip trod through the grass, stepping over the remaining halves of a soldier sliced by a rotor blade as he peeked inside. There were two more safely buckled within. Well, one, at least. The other's head had been pierced through by a jagged end of a microphone attached to his helmet, stabbing him right between the eyes.

He ignored that one, leaning over to the pilot whose head lolled when Philip poked it. He tucked his fingers under his chin, placing the tips of his pointer and middle fingers against the man's jugular.

He grinned as he announced to the group, "We've got a breather! Ted!"

Ted dashed over to Philip's side instantly, unbuckling the pilot and hauling him onto the grass beside the wreck. Philip heaved a deep breath as he dropped the unconscious body onto the forest floor. The man was dressed in military clothes, which, despite the crash, looked clean and well-kept.

"Got a chomper!" came a cry.

Philip ignored it as the others moved into formation, guns and bow at the ready, instead signalling for Ted to lift the pilot's feet as he snatched the man up by the armpits to drag him to the car. There was a whistle of air and a dull _thud_ in the background when the biter's body fell.

A wheezing groan beside him made him look up. He turned slowly, shoving his neatly combed hair out of his face to glance down. There, with eyes misted over into a dull grey, clammy skin and snatching hands, lay the soldier lanced in half. It snarled at him weakly as it raised its arms, desperate to grab a hold of him.

Pitiful. Disgusting. Weak.

He calmly lifted the knife out of its holster by his hip, feeling the familiar weight where it rested perfectly in the palm of his hand – like it was meant to be. Like it was always meant to be.

He lifted the knife above his head and let gravity overcome him as he fell on top of the biter, his knife sliding like butter into the dead soldier's skull. With a firm twist he yanked the knife out of the soldier's head, the biter giving a final gurgle before it collapsed on the ground. He stood, brushing himself off and headed back to the helicopter where he heard a twin snarl. Apparently the microphone wire hadn't done its job properly.

It didn't take much effort to kill the second soldier again; but there was nothing pleasing about it either – he no longer got that rush of adrenaline like when he was first introduced to this cruel world. It wasn't fun anymore. It was tiresome, and he only had so many clean clothes left.

He pulled the knife back from the soldier and was about to leave when his eye caught the flutter of paper. Curious, Philip tugged at the edge of a manila folder wedged between the seats, forcing it free. Stamped in red were the words 'CONFIDENTIAL' and, by the undead holy lord himself, did Philip feel confident about keeping this secret for his own. A smile tugged at his lips as he flipped open the folder letting his eyes flick across each page with interest.

He shuffled through the sheets, obscenely curious as each new signature from the Army Generals and Corporals were revealed, addressing warrants and citizen's arrest rights. His heart beat loudly in his ears as excitement rose within him, riffling through pages so furiously that he thought he might tear them – until he found a polaroid; a boy sat cuffed and scowling, staring sullenly at the camera with someone's hand gripping his chin tightly to keep his head steady. His white-streaked hair was falling over a pair of large blue eyes and a dirty bandage hung loosely from his shoulder. Somebody had messily scrawled the words 'PAIN IN THE ASS' across the bottom of the picture. A sheet of paper was clipped to the photo printed off in neat black ink, listing names, addresses, birth dates, age, schooling…

Family members.

He sucked in a breath, tossing a look over his shoulder at Ted and the others as he tucked the folder under his padded vest, making sure none of his men had glimpsed it before he stepped out of the helicopter. He zipped his vest up tighter, letting none of the white parchment stick out when he heard furious groans from off to the left that made him pause. They were growing louder, more aggravated.

He glanced at his men who stood at the ready, weapons aimed at the tree line. But nothing came. The growling was still there, and he swore he heard the clanking of chains – until it stopped.

Philip waited for a heartbeat, ears tuned to the sounds of the forest, but heard nothing else. His lip twitched finitely, "Let's roll out."

He trampled his way through the overgrown grass, and with a sharp click of his fingers, Ames snatched up the pilot with Ted, packing him up into the back seat of the car. Ted yanked out a thick piece of cloth and efficiently tied it around the man's eyes. Philip gave a nod of approval as he moved to slide into the passenger seat.

"Hey, Gov'ner! Got a li'l surprise for ye'!" he heard.

Philip bit his tongue as the grating voice of Merle Dixon met his ears. The man was a travesty – minimal respect and he lacked any sort of assentation, constantly picking fights with the other men. But he was good at what he did, Philip had to admit, with example of the two women he'd dragged in front of him.

He was drawn to the first by the sharp glare in her eyes. Hair weaved into dirty dreadlocks and skin the colour of earth, the woman sneered at him with flared nostrils but didn't speak a word, her eyes constantly flicking to her friend who had been hauled over Merle's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, blonde hair hiding her features but a strong Anglo tan visible underneath the thick layer of dirt and sweat.

"Load them up," Philip ordered.

Merle gave him a mocking salute as he edged closer to the car to shove the blonde in. Philip waved Martinez over and pointed at the other woman, who was glancing over her shoulder at Merle.

"Give them the usual welcome; bind 'em and blind 'em."

He didn't wait for Martinez's response as he stepped into the car, slamming the door behind him. He watched half-heartedly as the woman stood still, allowing Martinez to snag her hands and wrap them in rope, but her eyes burned ferociously up until the point she was forced into the blindfold. He chuckled when she yanked her head to the side then, thrown by her loss of sight, but his face fell to its unreadable blank slate when Martinez and Dixon loaded themselves into the car, switched it on and drove off.

The sun had long set as they neared the settlement, and as protocol called, he snatched up one of the walkie-talkies lodged in the dashboard box and clicked the button, "I need you to prepare the infirmary."

"How many?" came the tinny reply of Farrow.

"Three. One with multiple fractures and severely bruised. Another in and out of consciousness. Probably from shock or exhaustion."

"The other?"

"She's fine."

"Female?"

"Two. Found them hiding in the woods."

"You nearing the gate?"

"Almost. Oh, and Farrow?"

"Yes, sir?"

Philip patted the front of his vest self-assuredly where the file hid, "Keep an eye on the Fentons."

…

Jazz tugged at her ponytail, pulling the overstretched elastic tighter around the bunched hair and gave a mournful huff as it wilted under its own weight.

Dr Stevens raised an eyebrow at her, "We've got a perfectly good pair of surgical scissors that aren't being put to use."

Jazz gasped, her hands flying back to her hair. She shook her head furiously, tucking the ponytail into the nape of her shirt while Dr Stevens chuckled at her.

"I like it long," Jazz said bashfully.

Dr Stevens shrugged, her own hair pulled into an impressively tall beehive, "Suit yourself. Just make sure it stays out of the way. We've got the Governor coming in soon with a couple of outsiders. He's asked you to guide them around when they wake up tomorrow."

"Two?"

"Three, actually. But by the sounds of it, the third isn't going to make it through the night."

"Oh," a lump settled in Jazz's throat and she whispered thickly, "Is that why I've been pulled from curfew?"

Dr Stevens nodded, opening a chest on the far side of the infirmary and tossed her a pair of scrubs, "Put these on. You're going to be my assistant for this one. Maybe we'll have a lucky night."

Jazz pulled the blue shirt over her clothes, stepping into the pants, "Mr Blake does tend to be quite dramatic."

Dr Stevens huffed, shoving the rolling cart full of equipment at her, "You're telling me. But we can't risk it. There's water on the flame for sterilisation – mind cleaning the equipment another round? We've got to make sure they're ready for surgery before the men make it through the main gate."

Jazz nodded, accepting the cart and hauling it into the opposite room. The house they called their infirmary was a handsome one – the entire town was with its structured design. Most of the houses were new, replicas of early nineteenth century architecture, with flowerboxes in windowsills and pinstripe awnings decorating shopfronts with cheery welcome signs. It was like a different world to the one just outside the tractor tyre stacked walls.

Hauling the bucket that was simmering on a low flame in the staff kitchen, Jazz carefully made her way back to the surgery, placing the tub on a cleared workbench and uncapped the bottle of polyhexanide seated neatly on the shelf above, dumping two capfuls into the hot water. She snapped on a pair of gloves and picked up the scalpel, tossing it into the liquid, swirling the water before she snatched it back out, her fingers burning from the steam through the thin latex as she set the scalpel to dry on a tray placed beside the bucket.

She repeated the monotonous steps for each utensil, dazedly letting her mind wander back to memories of a distant life, with her family and friends around her, smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong – like the world hadn't ended with her thrown right into the deep-end without even a paddle to cling to. She was dragged from her thoughts when the infirmary's door slammed open.

"Lead him through to the far room!" she heard.

Quickly, Jazz dumped the rest of the equipment into the water and dashed to the double doors, tugging them open to let the two men hauling a third in. She recognised Ames and Nguyen, who both grinned rakishly at her when she ordered them to put the unconscious man on the table.

She glared as they rushed out of the room and Jazz glimpsed two other women in the common area, one being led to a bed where an IV sat waiting. Dr Stevens spoke quickly to them before she rushed through to the surgery, where Jazz met her with a nod of understanding.

The good doctor pulled the younger girl over to the table where the man was unconscious, wordlessly telling her to grab the shears. Jazz quickly grabbed the pair of large scissors, and without prompting began to cut away at the man's clothes. The material was thick and tough, but Jazz made sure to keep all the surgery's equipment in top condition and the blades sliced through the padded material with little resistance.

Dr Stevens expertly ran her eyes over the man's body, lifting his arms and legs carefully and tutting every so often in dismay. Jazz watched with newly trained knowledge; judging by the bruising on his ribcage he had cracked more than a few and there was a notable amount of swelling around his ankle and his left wrist. Scrapes and cuts wrangled their way across his body, but he was relatively unharmed; Dr Stevens didn't seem too worried about the laceration on the man's forehead either.

The doctor stepped back with a self-ascertaining nod to herself, "He's fine. A few of broken ribs, a twisted ankle and a clean-snapped wrist. Head needs a few stitches, but it's mostly superficial. Not much else I can check without x-rays or a MRI – we'll need to keep an eye on him in case of a concussion, of course, but from what I can tell his guardian angel has been looking over his shoulder twice and checking thrice more."

Jazz felt pride in coming to the same conclusion, a wide grin spreading across her face… which fell just as suddenly at Dr Stevens's next words.

"You can clean him up, Jazmine."

"M–me? By myself? Bu–but I can't do that!"

Dr Stevens levelled her with a look, adjusting her glasses, "Of course you can. You've put casts on before; you've been training for this."

"Well, yes…" Jazz stuttered, "But those were practise! You were always with me! I can't do this alone!"

"Look, I've got another patient sitting in the other room who desperately needs to get her fluids up. I can't take care of both right now, can I?" Dr Stevens reasoned, placing a hand on Jazz's shoulder, "Besides, if anything goes wrong I'll just be in the other room, all right?"

Jazz chewed her lip before nodding nervously, looking down at the floor. Dr Stevens gave her a comforting smile before heading back into the main room, leaving Jazz alone with a man she prayed they had not misdiagnosed.

…

The binding process took over an hour to complete with Jazz's uncertain hands, and her stitching in the man's forehead was more than a little lopsided. Dr Stevens returned to the room partway through applying the wet plaster to the man's wrist after laying the soft cast – she didn't say anything about the stitches, choosing to instead stick a wad of cloth over the still-seeping laceration and holding it with tape.

It wasn't until another hour later after cleaning the entire surgery and infirmary (and sanitising the tools – again) that Jazz was able to pull off her scrubs and step outside (the other patients had long since left, for which Jazz was secretly glad for). It had been so long since she had been able to enjoy the night air thanks to Mr Blake's curfew order, and Jazz took her time walking to the two-bedroom motel room that she now called 'home'.

The stars sparkled brightly in the sky. The air seemed so much clearer down south than from what she remembered it being in Illinois. The city smog always seemed to hide the glittering suns that floated thousands of galaxies away through an invisible haze, but that was the only thing she found she could enjoy since the outbreak.

Danny had always loved the stars; he had wanted to be an astronaut. Jazz wondered if he still wanted to be one – or even if he was still alive…

She crossed the main road and reached the motel too fast for her liking, but eventually she relented, staring up at the sky one more time before treading up the spotless steps into the motel.

The walls were an inoffensive beige and she walked past the empty reception room toward the room farthest down the hall, number 14. The motel had been run via electronic key cards, but with the failed generator all the rooms had lost their ability to lock so Jazz simply pushed open the door and let herself in.

"Jazzy-pants!"

Jazz smiled tiredly but warmly at her father who sat in the middle of the small kitchen and lounge combination, fiddling with… _something_ he was in the process of making.

Toeing off her shoes Jazz said, "Hey, dad."

"Working at the infirmary a bit late tonight, huh, Jazzy?" Jack's eyes had already turned back to whatever it was he was making, but his ears were perked.

Jazz nodded, "We've got three new arrivals. Two women and a man."

"They all right?"

Jazz shrugged, "I think so. I have to show them around town tomorrow. Mr Blake's orders."

"Gotta do what the Governor asks you to, I suppose. You hungry? There's two tins of lima beans in the pantry there for you if you want it."

Jazz raised her hands over her head and stretched, feeling exhaustion hit her like a bullet train, "No thanks. I think I'll just go to bed. I've got an early start tomorrow."

"Mind giving your old man a wake-up call? I've got the morning shift for the wall."

"Sure," she stepped over to him, careful to avoid the nails and bolts that littered the floor and leaned over to kiss his forehead, taking in the familiar scent of him that always reminded her that she wasn't completely alone in this cold world, "Love you, dad."

Jack looked up at her and grasped her hand, a watery smile playing across his lips, "I love you too, Jazzy."

…

The early morning air was brisk but the sun was already shining down on Jazz and she praised her choice of the blue flowery summer dress that floated around her knees and the simple black flats that covered her feet. She had forsaken her overstretched hair-tie to instead let her hair flow freely down to the just below her shoulder blades, the ends in desperate need of a trim as the dry Georgia air split each strand and reminded Jazz that no matter how much she dressed the part, the world could never be what it was before.

She caught sight of the two women from the night before making their way down the motel's steps. The pair had stayed just two floors above her and her father's room. They looked a lot fresher now than they did last night, thoroughly washed and well-slept was the norm for most Woodbury residents.

Tucking the clipboard she'd been grasping nervously under her arm she gave the pair her best student council president smile and offered a hand, "Hello! You must be Andrea and, er…"

The blonde woman who Jazz had briefly seen being hooked up to the IV the previous night, clasping her hand with a firm political grip. The other woman didn't offer her own, "This is Michonne. You are?"

"I'm Jazmine Fenton, but most people call me Jazz. I'm going to be guiding you around town today."

"We just want to get our stuff and go," Michonne muttered and Jazz nearly jumped at the quiet woman's voice.

"Oh…" Jazz glanced down at her clipboard that listed the scripted formalities – there was nothing written there for what to do if people wanted to leave Woodbury. Nobody had ever wanted to leave Woodbury before. At least nobody had ever admitted it out loud, "Well, um, I— I don't know if I can help you out much with that… I'm supposed to show you where the library is and tell you about the arts and crafts fair…"

Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment as the two women stared at her.

Jazz cleared her throat uncomfortably. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth but despite each syllable feeling like lead, words continued to pour out of her mouth, "The Jefferson's were also planning to host a party next week and the whole town is invited and we recently got the bakery's ovens working again and Margaret has a really good recipe for biscuits and… and…"

Her cheeks were burning red and she fought the desperate urge to hide her face behind her ridiculous clipboard. If her brother was here he would have been rolling across the ground by now, laughing his head off at her. She could see him mocking her in her head; nudging her in the ribs and trying to hide a stupid grin as he teased her, _"Playing teacher's pet, sis? You know you don't get grades at the end of the world, right?"_

Her embarrassment fled her at the memories of her brother and she fought down the urge to cry in front of two strangers.

She felt a hand rest gently on her shoulder, making her glance up from the clipboard into the face of Andrea who was giving her a pitying look that was speckled with understanding. Jazz couldn't help but resent that look, although she couldn't bring herself to blame the woman. She probably looked like she was about to have a breakdown in the middle of the street.

"So, where's that library you were talking about?" Andrea asked casually, glancing at her companion, "Couldn't hurt to have a better look around here before we leave after all."

Jazz's panting breath was levelling out and the tears were quickly banished from her eyes. Her nose still felt stuffy and her throat was thick when she spoke, but she was in control, "Sure. I'll take you there right now!"

The two women followed after Jazz as she directed them around the small town, pointing out people or buildings occasionally like a professional tour guide. While Andrea looked curious about the town, asking Jazz questions about the walls' stability and the townspeople's way of life, Michonne was trawling behind them, dogging their footsteps while staring suspiciously at anyone that glanced their way.

"How many people are here?" Andrea asked once they reached the outside of an old antiques store.

"Seventy-three," Jazz answered affirmatively, "We haven't had a casualty since early winter, and Annie's about to pop, so we're hoping to make it seventy-four."

"And how long has the town been here?"

Jazz shrugged, "Since the start, I think. Mr Blake would know for sure—"

Michonne raised an eyebrow, "Mr Blake?"

"Phillip Blake," Jazz offered, "He's the one that brought you in here. Most people call him the Governor. My dad and I arrived in the town late last summer. About a month after everything started – when he had only set the foundations of Woodbury."

"Just you and your dad?" Andrea asked.

Jazz shifted uncomfortably, turning on her heel to continue the walk through the town, the others trailing behind her. Her voice was notably higher as she spoke, "It wasn't always. We had my mum and my brother, too. We got separated though. We lost Danny first, in the forest back in Arkansas, then mum in one of the smaller towns in Tennessee on our way to Knoxville. We always meant to go and find them, but every time we tried…"

"I lost my sister," Andrea offered comfortingly, "She was all I had left. You're lucky you still have your father."

She shook her head brusquely as water fogged her vision for a second time within the hour, ignoring the comment, "Mr Blake has set a strict curfew; nobody out after dark. The use of light kept to the bare minimum, armed guards on the fence and patrolling the perimeter to keep the biters away."

"That's not what the patrols were doing last night. They had the dead ones strung up like an ornament."

Jazz glanced nervously at the wall to see some of the men sneering down at them. She flinched before muttering out systematically, "Those men have lost a lot of friends out there… Everybody copes in their own way."

Michonne looked at her, long and hard, "How are you coping?" she asked in less than a whisper.

Jazz didn't reply.

…

"Looks like we've got eyes, boys," Philip called, lowering the binoculars, passing them to Ames to have a look, "Get the car around. These brave soldiers look like they're long due for a welcome home. Calvin, you're with me. Everyone else… you know what to do."

The Governor trod his way from the hillside, gesturing a finger at the blond man who hurried to match his pace. The sedan was parked at the base of the hill and Calvin rushed to get into the driver's seat while Philip took the passenger.

"Head south-west. We'll meet them from the far-side, give them the chance to see us," he ordered. He reached into the back pocket of his pants, yanking out a clean, white handkerchief.

Calvin tore down the stretch of road toward the soldiers and the Governor rolled down the window, the fresh breeze brushing his hair back off his face, whipping around his ears in admonishment for his choices, not that he really cared.

Lazily reaching an arm out the window, kerchief firmly in his grasp, he held it as a sign of peace as the sedan rounded the bend. The pilot had been right, these men were armed to the teeth; tanks of fuel and heavy artillery littered their campsite, ready for the taking. The Governor grinned.

"Take it in. Slowly. We don't want to alarm them."

Calvin took the corner sharp, as he was wont to do, and Philip frowned when his arm was jostled, reluctantly pulling it back inside. The soldiers who had been milling around were already in formation, guns at the ready.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey! Don't shoot!" Philip cried, yanking the door open.

"Identify yourself!" A man wearing corporal wings on his lapel called out.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Philip called again, letting false worry seep onto his face, "We found your guy, Welles. Lieutenant Welles?" he had the attention of the entire camp now, "His chopper went down."

"Well, where is he?" Corporal asked.

"We got a little settlement. Now he— he's badly hurt, but he's alive! The other guys didn't make it, I'm sorry!" Philip was treading closer now, kerchief still in hand and arms half-raised in a peace-offering, "But Welles, he told we would find you here! Wants me to bring you to him!"

One of the men called from the back gleefully, "They found Welles, they've got him!"

Many of the men looked relieved, giving wide grins to one another and nodding their heads.

"We sure did!" Philip called, smiling broadly, "We found you too!"

The gun met his hand with ease and with barely a glace he pulled the trigger. The bullet flew for the cheering corporal, ramming itself straight through his right shoulder and sending the soldier tumbling to the ground.

Gunfire rattled through Philip's ears as his men who had kept to the shadows fired their automatics. The soldiers didn't stand a chance; one after the other they fell, blasted full of holes, and piercing the bodies of their vehicles.

The Governor strode toward the corporal, a thin trail of red was splattered across his mouth as he struggled for air, choking on his own blood but Philip ignored it, leaning down next to him to saw the strap of his gun free with his serrated knife, hefting the metal into his arms like he was cradling a newborn baby.

The same gun was rammed into the corporal's skull three times for good measure and Philip heaved a long sigh when the soldier finally stopped moving.

Ted rushed over and Philip stood straight, "Never waste a bullet, son."

He gestured to the campsite with the gun, "Take out the rest of these weapons," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," Ted said shakily.

That's when he spotted him – a soldier hobbling away, half-hidden behind one of the Humvees as quickly as he could and Philip gave a predatory grin. This is what he _craved_. The constant fight, the ever-churning battle to be the best, the strongest, to be everything he never was.

He had the gun levelled in his arms, but something made him pause; memories of a manila folder tucked deep in his study crossed his mind, and the gun moved from being pointed into the soldier's back to his leg.

The crack of the bullet echoed through the clearing followed by a frightened scream. The Governor chuckled as he trod his way over, waving his men away with a quick order to take the others out. The men moved to each soldier, systematically shoving a blade through their skulls.

The soldier was crawling ever-slowly away from him and gave a pitiful yelp when he glanced over his shoulder to find Philip striding calmly forward.

The Governor grabbed his bleeding leg, digging his fingers into the bullet wound and yanked him back. The man shrieked in agony as he was flipped over, tears gushing down his face. Philip tutted disapprovingly, crouching down beside the man.

The man whimpered and peeked up at him through the harsh rays of the sun.

"Wanna tell me your name, boy?" Philip asked.

"D–D–Daley, sir. W–William Daley."

Philip nodded and reached for his back pocket, pulling out a dog-eared photo and waved it in front of the soldier's face. Philip had stared at it for hours, analysing every feature of the boy who sat for it, from the cold grip on his jaw to the tightness in his eyes, to even the messy scrawl that was slapped half-humorously across the bottom, "Do you know who this is?"

Daley looked ready to swallow his tongue before he coughed out, "That's Daniel Fenton, sir."

Philip nodded. The man was cooperating, "Mind telling me why your men are after him?"

Daley turned even paler, and not just from the blood-loss. He shook his head minutely, a tell-tale sign that the soldier was not being so generous.

"Daley, I asked you a question. Don't make this harder on yourself."

"That's classified," Daley finally admitted, "Civilians aren't supposed to know."

Philip shrugged, tugging another sheet out of his pocket flattening it for Daley to see, "Now isn't that interesting. Seems like it is my business – do you know what this is, son?"

Daley blinked, "A citizen's arrest warrant?"

"Signed by the defence general himself by the look of it; a warrant 'for the immediate and conclusive retrieval and detainment of Mr Daniel Fenton', I believe it says," Philip slapped the paper in emphasis, a false look of surprise flitting over his features before he looked back down at the wounded soldier, "Now tell me, _why_ does a fourteen year old kid suddenly have all that's left of the military's defence after him?"

"Th–that's classified," Daley said again.

The Governor rolled his eyes and snatched his gun, not even hesitating to blow off the man's other leg. Daley howled as the bullet shattered his knee, but the Governor ignored him, snatching his hair and pulling his focus back on him.

" _Who is Daniel Fenton?"_

"I don't know! We picked him up in Knoxville! The others were going through their pick n' mix routine! Jameson and Rodriguez ran into him – they walked right through a herd of biters without a scratch!"

"They walked through them? How?"

Daley whimpered pathetically, "The kid's a natural repellent or something! He was bit too, but didn't turn!"

"He didn't turn?"

Daley shook his head, "He'd been bitten for two days before we found him! The generals think he could be the cure!"

"Do you know where the kid is now?" Philip could feel his excitement rising. His heart clenched and hope rose into the pit of his stomach, "Can he turn the biters back into who they were?"

"I don't know! We lost him in late summer!"

"You _lost_ him?" The Governor snarled.

"There've been sightings! That's why we sent the chopper up to scout for him! A–a–and there was a group! Back at the beginning, we think he's been searching for his family with them – there were farmlands just out of Senoia, due west!" Daley blubbered, grasping his shot leg, "Please don't kill me!"

The governor mulled over the soldier's words. He could feel the stares of his men in the distance, having already cleared the area free of weapons, and asked evenly, "You think he's still alive?"

Daley nodded enthusiastically when Philip smiled down at him, "There were rumours… about a prison somewhere; heard that the kid's group is fortified up in there. We were on our way there. He—"

Daley didn't even see the next bullet coming.

…

Jazz saw them from the far side of town by the florists. Michonne was easiest to spot; she hadn't bothered changing out of her jeans and vest combination, dreadlocks pushed back by the dirt-stained bandana. She saw Andrea walking next to her in loose but fresh clothes, hair curled meticulously and glowing golden under the sunlight, duffel bags slung over both their shoulders.

Passing the bunch of de-thorned roses back to Mrs Cartwright, Jazz scurried after them, curious.

"Andrea, Michonne! Where are you going?"

"Out," Michonne said shortly, refusing to look at her. Andrea gave her an apologetic smile.

"Oh, have you joined the research team? Well that's… swell. Dr Stevens thought that you would be good for the team—"

"No. We're leaving."

"Leaving?" Jazz squawked, glancing over her shoulder quickly before hissing, "You can't do that!"

"Watch us," Michonne sneered.

"No, you can't!" Jazz reached out and snatched her arm. Michonne reeled back with a snarl, tearing it from her grip; Jazz jumped while Andrea chastised her.

"Michonne! Look, you've scared the poor girl. Can't you see that nobody wants to see you go? She just wants you to stay."

Jazz shook her head fervidly, eyes darting around the main street. Martinez stood on the far side of the wall staring down at them suspiciously. Jazz let out a loud laugh, as if Andrea had just told a tremendously funny joke, a smile plastered across her strained face as she whispered between straight white teeth, " _That's not what I mean!_ My dad and I… we were only passing through on our way to find mum and Danny – _we've been here for nearly a year now_."

"I understand. You're feeling guilty; it's a nice place. Nobody blames you for wanting to stay," Andrea said consolingly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"No, that's not what I—"

"Hey, girlies, wha'chu chit-chattin' all 'bout over here?" called Merle Dixon, striding across the length of the street where he had been sitting on a nearby bench. Jazz could see the crudely hewn metal strapped around his forearm glinting in the sunlight. She swallowed nervously, forcing a polite smile on her face.

Michonne snatched up Andrea's arm and forced her forward, tilting her head at Jazz to follow, who did so with hesitant steps.

"Oh, come on, now. Hey, hey, hey!" Merle called, rushing to their side to cut them off, "Y'all breaking my heart runnin' away like that."

"We're leaving," Michonne said.

"It's almost curfew. I'd have to arrange an escort," Merle argued. Jazz shrunk back as he waved his metallic arm in example, "I mean, the party's still goin' on."

Michonne stared at him long and hard, nostrils flaring in challenge. Jazz caught Andrea's cautious eyes and wondered how stable the other woman was with that sword.

"All righ', wait here a sec," Merle concluded, striding over to Martinez on watch, "Brownie, come 'ere."

Jazz distractedly noted that there was a new Humvee parked beside the wall. That hadn't been there yesterday…

The man with the gun leant down on his haunches from the makeshift scaffold as Dixon began to furiously whisper to him. Michonne threw Andrea a smug look which was reciprocated with the blonde woman's own confused one. Jazz let out a soft noise in her throat, half-heartedly reaching to pull Andrea back but the woman stepped out of her grasp, striding over to the men.

"The Governor told us we were free to go whenever we wanted," Andrea stated.

Merle slowly turned to her, a hand of caution raised, "Sweetheart, nothin' personal here, but you're gonna have t' step back."

Jazz swallowed thickly at the tone, fingers wrapping themselves into the skirt of her floral dress. Andrea, put off, slowly turned back to Jazz and Michonne, where the woman leant down and hissed, "See? There's always a reason why we can't leave yet."

"Clear!" called Martinez up above.

Jazz blinked in surprise, matching the two other women's expressions. Merle had moved toward the gate lock, leaning against the thick, weathered wood.

"Now if I was y'all I'd find some shelter before nightfall!"

He shoved the thick plank barricading the door closed and heaved it open with his free hand. Jazz stared out in wonderment at the demolished cars and garbage that littered just outside the walls – she hadn't seen past the gate into the open world in almost a year – Woodbury felt near claustrophobic now, seeing just a glimpse of the outside.

"They knew we were coming. This was all for show," Michonne whispered conspiratorially.

"Do you hear yourself?" Andrea asked, "How could they know that and _why_ would they _bother?_ "

"Ladies," Merle urged, motioning them through with his fingers.

Andrea sighed, "Close the gates."

"No!" Michonne said shortly.

Andrea looked appalled, "I practically begged the Governor to let you stay."

"I didn't ask for that—"

"You didn't have to," the blonde woman replied.

Jazz glanced over their shoulders as they argued, looking at Martinez and Merle. She felt more put-off than comforted by their ever-patient expressions. In the near year she had known any of the Governor's guardsmen, their most outstanding trait was their lack of control or reasoning. That's why the townspeople trusted them so much; they were passionate about their job to keep the town the way it is – not for the people's safety, but because they hated biters so ferociously.

Jazz tugged on Andrea's shirt, subtly trying to get her attention while appearing to not be involved, but the two women were caught up in their tirade.

"…That's what friends do for each other."

"It goes both ways," Michonne spat back.

"So, you wanna run around out there with walkers on chains eating twigs? I mean, is that right?"

"We held our own—!"

Jazz tugged at Andrea's shirt again, harder this time, pretending to look out at the festivities in the distance. She didn't notice.

"Eight months. Eight months on the road, moving place to place… scavenging – living in a meat locker! That was no life," Andrea's face became strained and she shook her head shortly, "I'm tired. I'm _tired_. I don't have another eight months in me – not like that. And you, I…"

"What about me?" Michonne asked, sounding slightly defeated.

"…I'm afraid you're gonna disappear. We always talked about this place," Andrea gestured with her arm out at the women and men who stood around the main street, holding cold glasses in their hands, powered by the Governor's generators as a special treat for the town, "Didn't we? A refuge? That idea was what kept us going."

Michonne's nostrils flared as she stared down at her friend, "Are you coming or not?"

Andrea looked close to tears, "Don't do this. Don't give me an ultimatum. Not after everything."

"Are you coming… _or not?_ "

Andrea hesitated, mouthing silent words as she shifted her weight on her feet.

"I'll go," Jazz said quickly. She gazed out at the decrepit mess that the world had become and wanted nothing more than to feel the fresh air again – even if it meant being in a world full of chompers. She wanted it. She _needed_ it. Her dad would be safe here; he loved Woodbury and he loved the Governor. She could go out and search for her mum and brother, maybe one day they could all be together again, as a family…

Michonne raised a brow at her sunflower dress and petite flats with a look of disbelief before she rolled her eyes and nodded, "At least one of you has some sense," she sneered at Andrea without glance at her friend, shoving her way past.

Jazz felt relief fill her as she trotted after the woman. Finally, she was going to be free from this prison.

She had barely made it halfway to the gate when Merle raised a hacked fist in her direction, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where d'you think you're goin', missy?"

"I— I'm leaving," Jazz stuttered out.

"You can't just up an' leave. The Governor's been wantin' t' have a talk t' ya."

"But you just said that they could go!" Jazz said, affronted.

Merle levelled her with a look that sent shivers running down her spine, "Your daddy sometimes works on the east fence, now don't he, girlie?"

Jazz nodded cautiously, "Yes…"

"You wouldn't want anythin' bad happenin' t' him while you were away, would you? Biters aren't the only scary things out there, y'know."

Jazz knew a threat when she heard one. With wide eyes she staggered away from Michonne, retreating to stand beside Andrea, who looked bewildered. Michonne glared at Merle with fire in her eyes.

"That's a smart girl. Now how 'bout you run along t' yer daddy now, hm?"

Terrified, Jazz didn't hesitate. She fled.

…

The numbness of drawing those lines sent a rush of calm thrumming through his veins. His pen froze on the paper at the loud knock that echoed through the handsome cherry wood door.

Flipping the notebook closed, he pushed it barely out of arm's reach, "Come in."

The door clicked open and Philip spotted to impressive girth of Jack Fenton standing in the hallway.

"Ah, Jack," Philip let an easy grin slip across his face, "Just the man I wanted to see. Come in, come in!"

Jack returned the smile with a full set of teeth nearly bouncing to the seat Philip gestured to, "You said you wanted to see me, Governor? Need any help with anything?"

"I will, I'm just waiting for our other guest to arrive. She should be here any moment now."

"Oi, Governor, got you a present!" Farrow called through the open doorway. He was grasping a rather shaken Jazmine Fenton's arm, rifle carelessly slung over one shoulder.

Philip glared at the man for his lack of tact. Situations like these were delicate – like the old saying said, you have to kill them with kindness, although he couldn't exactly say that he was feeling overly kind today.

"Thank you, Duncan," he gritted out.

Farrow gave another nod and shoved the girl into the room with little thought, slamming the door behind him.

The Governor sucked his teeth, infuriated, before giving a thin smile that resembled nothing of his usually charismatic self, "You'll have to forgive my colleague, Miss Fenton, he's been a little on edge lately; there's been a rise in the number of biters hanging outside the main gates recently and he's had to take on a few spare shifts."

"Do you need any extra help?" Jack asked, ever humble as the fool was.

"No, no," Philip appeased offering Jazmine a seat, "Nothing that my men can't handle. I want to keep you stationed on the far side – not many biters end up wandering that way, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Now, Jazmine, have a seat."

The girl still looked rattled as she lowered herself into the proffered chair, perching herself right on the edge, her back ramrod straight. The Governor watched her evenly.

"Why am I here?" Jazmine asked rudely. Her father seemed oblivious as he smiled his own silent question.

Philip stared at her for a long time, but the girl refused to budge despite her obvious nervousness, her jaw jutting out stubbornly. He seated himself into his own tufted leather chair, smile still in place as Jack beamed back, happily as ever while Jazmine glowered. They were polar opposites; father and daughter.

"I just wanted to ask you how you've been settling in is all, I know these past months have been tough on you both, but I just wanted to thank you for all of your efforts in bringing this community together."

Jazmine frowned with curiosity now, "We've been here for almost a year, why do you want to talk to us now?"

Philip heaved a dramatic sigh, "With the arrival of our latest guests it made me realise how much I've been neglecting those that have been with us from the start – and for that I am truly sorry. I want to make it up to you… please, tell me about your family… you've been looking for them since the beginning, haven't you?"

Jack and Jazmine blinked at each other before the girl nodded slowly, "Yes. My mother and my brother."

"And you lost them on the way here?"

Jack's face fell, "We lost Danny-boy when it all started in Arkansas… and we got separated from Maddie, my wife, just before crossing the Georgia border. But we'll find her, won't we, Jazzy?"

"Danny? Is that your brother's name?" Philip asked Jazmine carefully, "Did he die?"

She bristled, sending a sharp glare at him, "No," she stated adamantly, "Danny's still out there, I know it."

"What was he like, may I ask?"

Jazmine slammed her jaw shut stubbornly. Awful habit, refusing to talk. One of the Governor's pet peeves.

"Best boy you could ever ask for, Danny was," Jack replied to Jazmine's silence, tears swelling in the corner of his eyes, "Always there to give his old man a helping hand. Jazzy-pants adored him, didn't you, sweetheart?"

Jazmine was sitting hunched in her seat, staring at the floor in front of her. At her father's urgings, she nodded her head just the slightest.

"He was Maddie's little boy," Jack continued, "They were like two ghosts in a grave; same sense of humour – got her looks too. Maddie always said—"

"Was there anything _different_ about Danny?" Philip interrupted.

He saw Jazmine flinch. Philip gave her an appeasing smile that did nothing to ease the tension off her face – not that he really cared.

Jack blinked stupidly, "Different? No, not really. He had a major case of hitchhiker's thumb though… Got that from his great-grandpa Joe. Used to creep me out as a kid. The old man would always—"

Unimpressed, the Governor stood, cutting Jack off as he rested a hand on his shoulder in what he supposed could be considered a comforting way, gently shoving the giant of a man out of his chair and waltzed toward the door and pulling it open.

"Well, as usual, Jack, it has been a pleasure talking to you. I do hope you feel better about all of this. I apologise if I brought up any bad memories. However, I do need to speak to your daughter in private about our latest patient, if you'll excuse us."

"Oh, yeah! No problem!" Jack grinned, stepping into the hall, "She's a real talent, isn't she? Wanted to be a shrink when she was younger, but my Jazzy has always been good at everything she tries!"

"Indeed," the Governor said shortly, "I'll see you at the finale tonight, I take it?"

"You bet'cha! Wouldn't miss it for the world!" Jack grinned, tears all but forgotten, but Philip ignored him, barely uttering a farewell before shutting the door in the man's face.

He took a deep breath through his nose as he clenched the door handle tightly, the pressure winding up in his chest slowly loosening as he stared at the lacquered wood of the door frame. Unfurling his fingers from around the embellished knob, the Governor stared at his study. Jazmine Fenton was sitting hunched in her chair, refusing to look at him.

Taking careful, slow steps, Philip allowed his boots to thud heavily against the wooden floorboards, and he could see the girl shiver with every precise step he took. Reaching the safe tucked in the far corner of the room, he expertly dialled in the combination, creaking the door open and tugging out the precious manila folder.

Tucking it under his arm, he strode around Jazmine, watching the way her shoulders hitched up toward her ears and her back arched into itself defensively. He smiled satisfactorily as he came to stand next to her, waiting patiently without a sound.

Eventually, the girl glanced up. Big blue eyes wide with trepidation and Philip had to wonder what he had done to result in such a fantastic expression.

"You seemed awfully quiet back there, Jazmine. Anything you'd like to share with me?"

Jazmine quickly glanced away, leaving Philip feeling unimpressed by her sudden lack of bravado. He slammed the manila folder down onto the tabletop, making the girl jump in her seat.

"What's this?" she asked in a small voice.

"You tell me."

Hesitantly, Jazmine reached out with shaking fingers and flipped open the cover, revealing pages upon pages of documents. He watched her stare at them in confusion, flitting through the papers one at a time, eyebrows raising with each official signature that marked them.

Finally, she came across the Polaroid – dog-eared and heavily creased now with how often the Governor had stared at the picture himself, she let out a small gasp of recognition.

Shoving herself out of her seat she whirled around to face him.

" _What is this_?" she demanded, holding the photograph eye-level, "Is this some kind of _sick_ _joke_?"

The Governor sneered, tucking his hands behind his back as he rounded the table to rest his hands against the wood, "I can assure you, Jazmine, that I discovered this at the scene of our dear lieutenant's crash-sight."

Jazmine's eyes flickered constantly between him and the photograph, her fingers tracing the outlines of the young boy's face affectionately, "Why are you only showing _me_ this? Dad would have—"

"Your father already believes your brother to be dead," the Governor said shortly, "His speech patterns told me as much, and I don't have the patience to convince him otherwise. I want answers. I want results. And I want them now."

Snatching a page from the file, Philip shoved it into Jazmine's hands, "Now, tell me, what was it about your brother that made him _different?_ "

Jazmine frowned at him before turning her attention to the page in front of her. Philip didn't have to see what she was reading to understand the expressions that flittered across her face. He'd had Milton spend hours studying the bloodwork and genome results to write up a false debriefing on his old typewriter, nearly quoting the soldier, Daley, word for word. It was a claim that young Daniel Fenton, at the age of fourteen years and nine months, had survived a biter attack with no noticeable repercussions. No fever, no constricted breathing, no lapses of consciousness or lack of coherent thought – none of the symptoms that usually occurred following a bite.

Jazmine Fenton's little brother was _immune._ He could be the _cure._

Her arms dropped to her sides as her mouth fell slack, "This can't be real," she muttered, "He couldn't possibly—!"

" _What makes your brother_ _different?_ " Philip cut through with barely a hiss making Jazmine jump in fright.

"I— I don't know," she stuttered out.

With lightning reflexed the Governor reached across and snatched her arm, yanking her forward onto the large oak table with a squeal. The grip on her arm was so tight that his fingers and thumb met.

"Tell me!" he ordered making the girl whimper.

"I don't know!" Jazmine cried.

The Governor pulled her upright, snatching her jaw, not caring if the wayward hairs tucked behind her ears were tugged painfully under his unforgiving grip, "Tell me! Why is he immune? _Tell me!_ "

Jazmine clawed at his hand, trying to break free of his grip, but he just moved his hand out of the way, coming to rest it upon her throat, making her choke. He squeezed in warning, feeling her jugular vein stutter under his grasp, and eventually Jazmine's hands fell to her side as tears dripped down her face.

"Th–there was an accident…" she croaked out. Philip loosened his grip on her neck – just slightly, "Right before the outbreak…"

"Go on."

"My parents built a machine… it was supposed to… they wanted to prove that there was life after death – that _ghosts_ existed. But it didn't work," she released a shuddering breath, refusing to look him in the eye, "I was with a study-group that day… I— I didn't know what happened until Danny's friends called me. He was hurt. Unconscious for almost two hours. Tucker and Sam thought he was _dead –_ said that he wasn't breathing, there was no heartbeat or anything! But he woke up like nothing was wrong. Like everything was all right. Like he—"

There was a knock on his door and Philip nearly snarled, yanking his hand away from the girl's throat and roughly pushing her into her seat. Quickly, he snatched the files away from the girl, stuffing them deep in his drawer, and marched for the door with barely a glance at Jazmine.

The door swung open on his command where he discovered Andrea on the other side, dressed in hiking boots and a simple grey pullover with a smile that quickly fell from her lips.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked.

Philip painted a clown's grin across his face, all teeth, "No, no," he lied easily, "Come in, what seems to be the problem?"

Andrea shrugged as she glided into the room, "I just wanted to apologise again for Michonne… I know you went out of your way to help her and— oh!" she stopped short at the sight of Jazmine, "I didn't realise you had company."

The Governor waved her concerns off, attempting to bat away his anger at the same time, "Jazmine and I were just finishing up discussing our concerns about the lieutenant in the ward. She's Dr Steven's primary assistant as you know."

"Huh," was all Andrea said, watching the younger girl curiously.

Philip dashed to the bar taking down three whisky glasses and pouring two fingers each, neat.

"I'm not visiting just for the free booze, you know," Andrea joked, "Though it does seem like a good incentive doesn't it, Jazz?"

Jazmine looked horrified at the prospect of drinking with him.

He handed Andrea her glass who gave him a jesting salute and seated herself in the chair Jack Fenton had just vacated not even ten minutes ago. He placed the other glass of whisky in front of Jazmine who sneered at the drink in distaste, not moving her hands from where they were gripping the armrests.

The room was silent as Andrea took a long sip, smacking her lips as half the glass's contents disappeared down her throat, "I gotta tell ya, this tastes better every time."

Philip offered her a small smile while Jazz remained silent, head ducked.

"So, what can I do for you, Andrea?" Phillip laced his fingers in front of him, resting his forearms against the oak of the desk.

Andrea ducked her head in a bashful manner, staring at her shoes with a small grin, "Well, I was wondering…"

She paused for a long moment, looking at her boots. Reaching down, she snatched something off the floor – a small square of paper.

"What's this?"

Philip bit his tongue so hard he tasted copper. She had picked up Daniel Fenton's photograph.

"I— I know this kid," Andrea murmured in disbelief, "He was with my group… back at the farm."

"You knew Danny?" Jazmine burst out, "He's here? _In Georgia_?"

"I dunno. Haven't seen anybody in eight months – couldn't tell you if he was even alive."

Jazmine looked disheartened at that fact, but the Governor felt excitement rise up inside his chest as Andrea continued, placing the picture back on the table, "He was a stubborn one. Walked nearly four days through the woods just to reunite a little girl with her mother."

"When did you last see him? Did you hear about your group meeting up anywhere? A prison, perhaps?" Philip tried to keep his voice low, hide the strained note that threatened to escape his throat.

"Not any prison that I knew of. Last I saw he was riding shotgun with Merle's brother, Daryl – came back to warn us about a walker herd that was sweeping through. The kid had heart."

Jazmine gave a wet laugh, "That sounds like Danny all right; more heart than common sense."

Andrea's eyebrow tipped upwards, "Small world. How do you know him?"

"He's my brother."

"Oh," Andrea's face looked meek as she quickly said, "He spoke about you and your family a lot; he was always looking. Could go on about you and your parents for hours if we didn't shut him up."

Philip was focussed on Andrea's every word, forcing down the gleeful grin that had plastered itself across his face, "What was he like?"

"Can't tell you much, to be honest. Danny mostly kept to himself – I guess the only one who could get anywhere near to him was Daryl, and that was only on a good day. Neither him or Danny had many, and it was lucky if they happened to have one at the same time."

"Danny's shy," Jazmine muttered bashfully.

Andrea gave a laugh, "I wouldn't call him shy as much as stubborn. I introduced myself to the kid with a bullet to his head and he was still rearing to go the moment he woke up."

"You shot my brother?" Jazmine looked sick.

Andrea grimaced, "Nicked him, really. Not that it mattered. Danny healed so fast you wouldn't have guessed it the way he was clambering around the farm."

Philip rose a curious brow, "He healed quickly?"

Andrea shrugged, "Baffled the good doctor. He was supposed to be out cold for a few days with all the drugs in him, came around in just a few hours."

The woman glanced over at Jazmine then and gave her a polite smile, "Do you mind if I have a few words with the Governor, Jazz? In private?"

Jazmine looked over at him quickly and nodded. Philip frowned, but was quick to wipe it off when Andrea glanced his way.

"Of course you can!" He said boldly, reaching over to pat the young girl's hand condescendingly, "We can finish this conversation later, can't we, _Jazz?"_

The girl practically leapt out of her chair, streaming out of the room without another word.

He didn't notice until too late that Daniel Fenton's photograph was missing.

…

The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow throughout the motel room but Jazz refused to move from where she was perched on the edge of the bed. She could hear the festivities from outside her window down below, but she didn't feel the urge to join them. Their monthly ritual was tonight – the whole town got riled up to see the show, the _battle royale_.

Jazz huffed under her breath. It had been nearly a year since she'd gone against a biter face to face, but she couldn't forget the fear that they struck through her heart. She unfurled the photograph in her palm and stared down at it with a watery smile. Danny stared up at her, glaring with an expression that Jazz had never seen cross her little brother's face before. It tore her up inside to see him so upset, to think that his life – his _existence;_ she couldn't call what meagre world they lived in offering much of a life any more – had become so difficult. She wondered where he was – if he was safe. If he had found their mum. If he thought of her as often as she thought of him.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand when she heard the front door close shut, tucking the photograph into her pocket and tried to smooth her hitched breath.

"Jazzy-pants? You in here?"

"My room, dad!" She called out, glancing in the mirror on her vanity and hoping her dad didn't spot her red-rimmed eyes.

Jack stood in the doorway, dressed in an old worn shirt and a pair of blue jeans. The jumpsuit Jazz had so many memories of seeing him in had become so ragged and torn over the year that the man had no option but to let it go. Though Jazz knew that he still kept it hanging in the back of his cramped closet.

"Are you coming down to the pits tonight, Jazzy? They've got Dixon on the rounds again – you know he loves to put on a show." Jack gave her an excited grin.

Jazz tucked her feet beneath her, wrapping her arms around her knees and glanced out the window. The orange was beginning to dim and she could see the floodlights surrounding the shipping containers over by the far courts – she knew what lurked inside. Rotting faces, gnawing teeth… the things of nightmares.

"No, thank you." Jazz said resolutely.

Jack's smile turned patient, a look Jazz remembered as a child whenever she arguing with him about her bedtime, "Jazz, how do you know you won't like it if you haven't tried it? It's just a good spot of fun—"

"It's archaic!" Jazz snapped, "And disgusting! They're dangerous, dad!"

"The guards have them under control. We can trust them." Jack argued weakly, but Jazz was having none of it.

She thought about showing Danny's picture to her dad. To show that this place wasn't anything like he believed it to be. That it was full of secrets and lies; but the truth would only hurt him more.

Her dad had long ago accepted that Danny was dead, and was only just coming around to the idea that they may never see Maddie again – she had heard him cry himself to sleep for months when they first arrived and even now he still struggled. To give him false hope that Danny may still be alive could be the final straw.

She stood up carefully and made her way to the door, pulling her jacket over her shoulders and slipping on her shoes, "I'm going to head to the infirmary… Y'know, for when someone finally gets themselves bit after one of these stupid fights. I'll see you later."

She ignored her father and pulled the door closed behind her, tugging the jacket tighter around her shoulders and making her way down the street.

The night was cool and Jazz let out a rattling breath, feeling the light chill of the night seep into her exposed skin. The main road was still littered with families and friends, laughing and chattering as they made their way down to the warehouses. She ignored them as they passed, reaching the infirmary.

With a roll of her eyes she pushed the doors open. None of the buildings were locked in Woodbury – there was no need; nothing to steal, nothing to take. The Governor always liked to state that they were a community _– a_ _family_. Mr Blake claimed that the town didn't have any secrets, so locks weren't necessary. Jazz nearly scoffed aloud at the idea – she knew better now. She locked the door behind her.

The infirmary was dark, only the soft glow of the tiki-torches that lined the street outside crept into the room, muffled by the drawn curtains, but Jazz could navigate through the room with her eyes closed. Walking over to the sink she pulled over a bucket, filling it with water and hauling it to the stovetop. With a pack of matches and a flick of her wrist the gas burner was lit, boiling the water free of bacteria.

Jazz leaned against the kitchen benchtop, listening to the water churn softly in the metal bucket. The laughing voices had long since faded away leaving the night empty and hollow. Slowly she pulled her brother's photo from her pocket, tracing the lines of his face in the shallow light with a wet smile. All the hope, all the wishes of their family reuniting, of being what they once were, had been washed away in one day. They could never return to what they were – even if they did find mum, even if Danny was still alive. The world was too far gone.

The bubbling of the water broke Jazz from her reverie, and she pushed herself off the bench picking up a towel and wrapping it around her fist, grabbing the bucket's handle and heaving it clear of the stove. She shuffled over to the operating table finding the assortment of abandoned medical tools and soiled bandages left on the tray beside it – Dr Stevens did not believe in cleaning up after herself, that was always the nurse's job, which, in turn, meant it was now Jazz's job.

Jazz dumped the bandages in the bucket, not caring to see if the water changed colour as she headed for the back room. Their patient, Welles, was located there; she hadn't been able to see him in the past few days, her priority being to guide Andrea and Michonne around while looking after the townspeople, but Dr Stevens had assured her that he was in the clear and recovering well, but still needed continuous medical attention.

Careful not to make too much noise, she pushed open the door, ready to measure the man's drip and see if any stitches had come loose. But there was nobody. The bed was empty.

She stepped fully into the room, ignoring the prickling on the back of her neck. The stark white sheets were pressed and made, pillows fluffed. The IV stand was empty and the operating utensils were neatly stacked on their trolley, ready for their next use. A metal cabinet with grated slats stood in the far corner of the room, usually left open for linen, but it was sealed shut tonight.

She moved toward the cabinet and gently tugged at the doors. Locked. But nothing was ever locked in Woodbury – Jazz hadn't even known that the cabinet _had_ a key.

She peered through the narrow grate on one of the doors, but the inside was too dark to see anything. There were candles on the bedside table; Jazz snatched a tall, thin one, snapping another match to life and lighting the wax. She held the candle up to the door, letting the light seep in through the slats. The glow barely shone through, but Jazz could make out basic shapes. Thick industrial boots sat on the bottom row next to a pair of camouflage pants and a matching jacket. A white undershirt was neatly folded on the row above, with three medals perched on top. Beside it sat an empty holster and a Kevlar vest.

Jazz pulled away from the cabinet, frowning. Lieutenant Welles wasn't well enough to leave the OR unassisted. Dr Stevens hadn't given him clearance – and if he was, why would he have left all of his gear and commemorations behind?

A rustle and a creak echoed through the house and Jazz jumped, hurrying to blow out the candle and dive behind the bed. She wasn't technically allowed in the infirmary at this time – it was past curfew unless you were at the match – she'd been caught more than once by nosy townsfolk. The glow-in-the-dark clock on the wall stated that it was almost eight.

There was a whisper from in the front room and someone mumbled something in return. Jazz crept her way across the floor to lean her head against the wood of the doors separating the OR from the main room. The voices were louder now.

"This was where you were held?" a man's raspy tone asked.

"I was questioned," came a familiar female voice. Jazz wracked her brain to figure out who it was but sadly came up short.

"Any idea where else they could be?" spoke the first voice.

There was a rustle of material and a stream of light filtered its way into the shallow gap of the OR doorway, "Though'chu said there was a curfew?" growled out a new voice that sounded like he had enjoyed one too many cigarettes in his youth.

"The street is packed during the day, those are stragglers," the woman hissed back.

"Anyone comes in here we're sitting ducks, we gotta move."

There was a bout of silence before the woman suggested, "They could be in his apartment."

"Yeah? What if they ain't?" the stream of light disappeared.

The woman sounded frustrated, " _Then we'll look somewhere else_."

"You said you could help us." The first man growled.

"I'm doing what I can!"

"Then where the hell are they?" a deep baritone asked. There were four. Four strangers who didn't sound like they meant anything but trouble. Jazz stared up at the ceiling, begging to whoever was up there that they didn't spot her.

The strangers swept their way past her door, whispering fervidly to each other. She strained her ears but couldn't figure out what they were saying.

There was a sudden knock on the door, making Jazz jump with fright, nearly crashing her elbow into the doorframe. A rattle of keys signified that someone was making their way inside as the door creaked open, softly closing it behind them.

"I know yer in here," came the booming voice of Mr Cattermole, the groundskeeper, "I saw ya movin' from outside. Now, I've warned ya before, Jazmine, yer not s'pposed t' be in here, y'know. Dr Stevens won' be pleased."

He trundled his way through the room in his awkward gait, footsteps heavy, "I know yer worried 'bout yer patients, but if ya don't come out now I'm gonna hafta tell her, 'cause ya know how mad she gets when she ain't told what's goin' on."

The footsteps stopped in front of the OR doors, and Jazz scuttled back on her knees, breath short. Mr Cattermole gently pushed the door open, but paused when there was a rustle on the other side of the room. The footsteps retreated and Jazz let out a relieved sigh.

"Who's in here?" Mr Cattermole sounded suspicious now, and Jazz couldn't help but peek through the crack as he wandered into the storage section. There was a flutter of the curtain and a filth-covered man came rushing out, pinning Mr Cattermole to the wall by his forearm, a gun pressed into his temple.

"Shut up." Jazz recognised him as the first voice, "Get on your knees."

More people rushed out of hiding and forced the man to the ground, guns at the ready. Mr Cattermole looked as terrified as Jazz felt.

"Zip tie him," he barked out. The group worked systematically to fulfil his bidding as he asked Mr Cattermole, "Where are our people?"

Jazz covered her mouth in fear of making any sound, ducking deeper into the shadows. Mr Cattermole squeaked out, "I— I dunno?"

The first man looked furious, and hissed in a stage whisper, "You are holding some of our people! _Where are they?_ "

"I— I dunno!"

The man acted perfunctory, "Open your mouth," he ordered, whipping out a dirty grey rag and stuffing it in Mr Cattermole's mouth. Mr Cattermole struggled, letting out soft whimpers, before one of the men slammed the butt of his gun into the back of his head, sending him tumbling to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Jazz couldn't stop the small squeal from escaping her, quickly rushing to her feet and diving under the bed.

There was a heavy pounding of footsteps that followed her and someone grabbed her ankle, yanking her roughly from under the bedframe. She came face-to-face with the end of a gun and a furious-looking face.

"No! Please don't!" Jazz gasped, hands raised in pleading, "I— I don't kn–know anything!"

"Jazz?" came the woman's voice. She glanced over to see Michonne hobbling her way into the room, "Let her go, she's harmless."

"Oh yeah?" snarled the gritty voice, he was a thin-eyed man with dirty hair, carrying a crossbow, "What's gonna stop her from running to this Governor prick?"

"Because she hates Woodbury nearly as much as me, and she's going to help us, aren't you, Jazz?"

The man with the gun stared at her inquisitively, not letting his guard or his gun down, forcing Jazz to nod her head in agreeance – anything to get the gun out of her face.

The man with the crossbow heaved a sigh, knocking the other man's gun away and hauling her to her feet, shoving her roughly to sit on the bed. She caught a glimpse of the other member of the group through the open door, dragging Mr Cattermole into the storage section and out of sight. He was a big man, easily clearing over seven feet and dressed in a blue prison uniform. She gulped.

The first man looked affronted by the second's actions, but the second simply retorted, "Ya ain't gonna get nothin' outta her if she faints on us, Rick. She looks ready t' hurl any minute."

Rick stared contemplatively at her before Michonne took charge, fingering her sword by her side, "We're looking for some people. Have you seen anyone new around here recently? Names are Maggie and Glenn."

Jazz shook her head quickly, "If Mr Blake took some of your people he wouldn't be telling any of the townspeople. The only ones who would know anything would probably be Martinez or Merl—"

Rick let out a frustrated yell and flung his hands into his curly hair to grasp at the roots, looking like he wanted to hit something. Jazz could only hope it wasn't her.

"I— I might know where he'd be keeping them, though," Jazz offered nervously, "Th–there's a section of empty shipping con–containers off on the f–f–far-side of town. Nobody goes down there, e–e–except a few of the Governor's men."

Rick yanked her to her feet, "Take us there."

Jazz hesitated when there was the sound of bullets ricocheting from somewhere outside. The ragtag group rushed out to the main room, peeking through the curtains. Wall guards rushed past the door toward the far side, making the group duck back behind the curtain. Jazz must have still looked physically ill because Michonne placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a curt nod which she surmised was meant to be reassuring. It wasn't.

A sharp jab in her back pushed her toward the doors where the others were prepared to leave, "Don' even think 'bout runnin'," the man with the crossbow muttered from behind her, jabbing another arrow at her back.

Rick gave an affirmative grunt before he flung himself out of the infirmary dragging Jazz behind, gun at the ready, followed by the man with the crossbow, then Michonne, then the prisoner. The streets were near barren, illuminated by the large tiki torches that ran through the centre of the street. Jazz whispered directions as they crept through the shadows passing loitering guards expertly and pointed to a collection of shipping containers, welded together into a makeshift warehouse with plywood and glue.

The door was already open when they arrived, and the nerves grew ever-steadier in Jazz's gut. The man with the crossbow looked at her suspiciously as if it was her fault the security was so minimal.

The others' footsteps were near non-existent as they dashed through the corridors. Rick ducked his head around a corner only to pull it back quickly, sharing a look with the rest of them. There was a plethora of the Governor's men milling about, and they hurriedly dashed to a farther wall, ducking down onto their haunches as a voice echoed through the tin walls. Jazz recognised it instantly; it was Merle's.

"Glad we could catch up," the man said in his smarmy tone.

There was a mumble of whispers and a woman crying. Jazz flinched as guns clacked menacingly through the corrugated steel walls and another voice called out, "On your feet! Move!"

Rick and the others grappled at a duffle bag by their feet, pulling out what Jazz recognised from her time in her parents' lab as smoke bombs. She quickly shoved herself further back into the walls, covering her ears for the impending noise.

There was a loud succession of bangs, followed by thick plumes of white smoke. Angry yells and coughing echoed from the havoc and the group moved in, guns at the ready. Jazz watched as they dashed into the smoke, pulling a bleeding, battered man and a young woman that she could only assume were Glenn and Maggie out of the chaos and dashing from the warehouse. Jazz was hot on their heels when waylaid bullets started to fly, running out of the warehouse like the hounds were on her heels.

They headed back to the main street in only a manner of minutes. People were rushing about the centre square, looking panicked and scared – they had obviously heard the gunfire.

They were too far from the infirmary for them to help the poor bleeding man, so Jazz gave a short whistle along with a whispered "Come on, inside here!", and rushed them into the _Patterson's Bed and Breakfast_.

They all stomped into the front room, an open-plan kitchen and dining space filled with patchwork quilts and floral-painted pottery and pans. The group were high-strung, pacing through the rooms and triple-checking doorwayss.

"Ain't no way back out here," called a voice at the rear of the building.

"Rick, how'd you find us?" asked Maggie. Jazz could see now that she was dressed in an oversized men's shirt as she hovered over the panting, beaten man on the floor.

Rick ignored the question, "How bad 's he hurt?"

"I'll be all right," the man she assumed was Glenn groaned.

"Where's that woman?" Maggie instead asked.

Rick glanced around the room, and Jazz realised for the first time that Michonne was missing, "She was right behind us," he muttered, glancing past the curtain onto the main street. The glow of the tiki flames bounced off the sweat on his forehead like a beacon, leaving Jazz to want to pull him further back inside, but instead curled into a little ball on the far wall, wedged between an old refrigerator and a hand-crafted cabinet, chewing her thumbnail.

"Maybe she was a spy?" suggested the man in the prison jumpsuit, "Want me to look for her?"

"No, we gotta get them outta here. She's on her own."

"Daryl," coughed Glenn on the floor to the crossbow wielder, "This was Merle. It was – he did this."

Daryl looked shocked. Shuffling forward, "Y'saw him?"

"Face-to-face. He threw a walker at me. Gonna execute us."

"S-so my brother's this Governor?"

"No," said Maggie, "It's somebody else. Your brother's his lieutenant or somethin'."

"Does he know I'm still with you?" Daryl asked, dazed.

Maggie nodded brashly but it was the bleeding man who said, "He does now. Rick, I'm sorry. We told him where the prison was; we couldn't hold out."

Rick crouched down next to them and rested a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder, "No. No, you don't apologise."

He dashed to the window again, shoving the curtain open to get a glimpse of outside. Maggie barked out, "They're gonna be lookin' for us!"

Rick nodded, "We have to get back. Can you walk? We got a car a few miles out."

Glenn muttered something incoherent but allowed Rick to heave him upright, leaning heavily against him.

"Hey, if Merle's alive I need to see him!" Daryl bit out desperately.

Rick gave him a stern look, "Not now. We're in hostile territory."

"He's my brother, he ain't gonna—"

"Look what he did!" Gesturing to Glenn who was close to keeling over, "Look, we gotta get outta here now!"

"I gotta talk to him, man! We can work somethin' out!" Daryl bargained, near pleading.

But Rick was adamant, "No, no, no, no – you're not thinking straight. Look, no matter what those two say, they're hurt. Glenn can barely walk – how are we gonna make it out if we get overrun by walkers and this Governor catches up to us _– I need you!_ "

There was a pause as both men stared each other down, "Are you with me?"

Daryl didn't look consoled as he muttered out, "Yeah."

Jazz, who had been sitting quietly, pretending she didn't exist, was forced to stare into Rick's sharp gaze, "You know a way out?" he asked.

Jazz, feeling near-petrified, shook her head, "They know you're here – everyone will be looking for you, they've probably started searching the houses already!"

Rick nodded as if he expected this, "Aw'right, we'll hafta head for the main gate, over that school bus they've got parked out front – it's the fastest way to the car. Keep low and try to keep out of sight. Everyone got their weapons?"

There was a muttered affirmative throughout the room. Rick turned to Daryl, gesturing at Jazz whose stomach was in anxious knots, "Take the girl with you. Keep her close. She's our best hope of getting outta here. If this all goes south we can use her as a hostage."

"Hey! No, please—!"

Daryl barely offered her a glance as he snatched her arm and yanked another smoke bomb out of the duffle bag.

"On three," Rick ordered, hovering by the door, gun in hand, "Stay tight. _One, two, three!_ "

They heaved the door open and Daryl tossed the smoke bomb out onto the street. Jazz, who watched as another haze of white encased the main street.

"Go!" Rick called, leading the party onto the street, Jazz was prodded forward by the man in the jumpsuit.

Much too soon for her comfort, they were spotted by a guard on the wall, who called out to the others. Guns rattled off in rapid fire and Jazz would have sunk to the ground to hide or surrender if Daryl hadn't been holding onto her so tightly.

It was difficult to see with all the smoke; she wanted to cry. She'd never been so terrified in all her life – Daryl hefted her up again when she stumbled and raised a rifle in the direction of the men on the wall. She didn't feel much pity for them when they were hit, but she didn't feel relieved either as the guards' bodies fell from the makeshift scaffolding into an unmoving heap.

"Come on! Take cover!" Rick's voice echoed over the square, "In here!"

Daryl had let go of her wrist to chase after his group, but Jazz didn't have much of a choice except to follow as another volley of bullets whizzed past her ear.

There was an alcove off to the side of the street where the rest were already hunched down inside, reloading their weapons.

"Any grenades left?" there was an affirmative murmur in response, "Get 'em ready! We're gonna gun it to the wall!" Rick called as red brick flaked off around the alcove from ricocheting bullets.

Jazz poked her head out of the alcove, and hissed, "They're heading this way!"

Maggie shoved her aside, letting loose a series of bullets from her handgun before offering it to Jazz, "Who are you?"

"I'm Jazz – Jazz Fenton," she said formally, but Maggie didn't seem to want to share too many of her own details.

"Y'know how to shoot?"

Jazz weakly shrugged, "Sorta – my parents—"

"That's good enough for me," Maggie shoved the gun into her hand. The metal was warm from body heat, and felt clunky and weighted in her palm. There was a similar heaviness in her gut.

"You guys stay here, I'm gonna lay out some cover-fire," Daryl said, handing the still-bleeding man his rifle as he groped for a new weapon.

"No, we gotta stay together!"

Daryl ignored them, "I'll be right behind ya! I'm takin' the girl with me in case things go sour. Ready?"

" _What?"_ Jazz squawked, " _No!"_

He tossed another smoke bomb out into the street and Jazz flinched when he snatched her unwilling wrist again, dragging her out onto the street. This had to be a nightmare! She was going to wake up at any moment in her hotel bed - she often dreamt of escaping, but never like this! Jazz nearly dropped her gun when Daryl pulled her down behind a public bench, propping his automatic up over the lip.

"C'mon, girl, shoot!" He snapped.

Jazz hesitantly raised her arms and shot. She missed. She shot again. A bullet grazed someone's shoulder, making them drop their weapon with a yelp.

"Good hit," Daryl murmured as he dug into his duffle bag, pulling out a box of bullets, "Cover me," he ordered, twisting to reload his gun. She let off another four rounds until her gauge clicked empty. None of the shots hit their targets, but it gave Daryl an opportunity as the guards were forced to take cover. Jazz whimpered nervously and ducked back behind the bench as he turned to the men again, gun blazing.

There was a shift of movement out of the corner of her eye, and Jazz glanced up to see someone looming over her, shotgun in hand.

" _Daryl!_ "

…

Jack shifted from one foot to the other, feeling both anxious and excited. The townspeople were crowded around the arena where the Governor stood, a crisp bandage covering his right eye. There were whispers, mainly from the civilians, who flinched at the flickering shadows in anticipation, waiting for someone to jump out at them. Not that he could blame them, he was a little on-edge himself.

The Governor shrugged his shoulders at the crowd, "What can I say? Hasn't been a night like this since the walls were completed… And I thought we were past it," he paused, gazing around at the crowd, "Past the days when we all sat huddled scared in front of the TV – durin' the early days of the outbreak. The fear we all felt then, we felt it again tonight."

The Governor was nodding as if in agreeance with himself, "I failed you. I promised to keep you safe. _Hell_ , _look at me!_ " he smirked self-deprecatingly, "Y'know I— I should tell you that we'll be okay. That we're safe. That tomorrow we'll bury our dead and endure but… I won't. 'Cause I _can't_. 'Cause I'm _afraid."_

Jack felt himself frown. This wasn't right – the Governor had never been afraid before.

"That's right. I'm afraid of terrorists who _want what we have! Want to destroy us!_ " he flung his arms out in example; the people in the crowd looked scared now. Jack felt chills down his spine, "And worse, 'cause one of those terrorists is one of our own."

The crowd gasped as the Governor raised a finger, pointing to bellow, "Merle! The man I counted on!"

Jack sneered with the rest of the audience. Merle stood, slack-jawed as the barrel of a gun was shoved against his back by Martinez and Reed. Jack didn't know Merle well, but from what he understood he was one of the Governor's most loyal men. It didn't make any _sense_ – why would he betray the Governor and the town like that? Boiling rage started to seep through his pores, and his hands curled into fists, only urged forward by the calls from the crowd.

"The man I trusted. _He led 'em here!_ He let them in."

Reed strode forward to snatch the blade off the end of Merle's arm and Martinez pulled the gun from the back of his pants, leaving Merle defenceless as the crowds began to rile up. Jack felt he deserved it.

"It was you," the Governor accused, "You lied! Betrayed us all!"

Merle was pushed forward to face the Governor. From the south-side, two people were led toward the arena, the distinct shapes of a man and a woman, with their heads bagged, arms tied behind their backs as they were dragged into the grounds.

"This is one of the terrorists!" the Governor pointed at the man who grunted furiously as he was shoved closer, nearly tripping over his feet. The Governor snatched at him, yanking the bag off his head.

" _Merle's own brother!_ "

The crowd gasped in shock and horror, but Merle didn't react to listen to them, staring at his younger brother. His brother shared the same look as he staggered about across the ground.

"And not only that!" the Governor continued, "They had to take one of our own along too! They tricked her into lying – forced her to hide the terrorists so they could get into our town and slaughter our people! Manipulated her! Told her tales about her own long-lost baby brother, Danny – made her believe that they knew where he was, back at their camp!

"Now you may know this girl; she's made us smile, cared for us, even offered to watch some of the younger kids when we needed her to. Hell, she's probably slapped a band-aid on most of you at some point – but that's where our sympathies should end. This girl gave it all up – gave up our safety, our way of life, our _future_ – just on a rumour! She's delusional! Chaotic! Dangerous!"

The crowd booed emphatically, urged forward by the Governor's speech – Jack felt himself jeering along with the rest of the crowd. Who would be stupid enough to risk everything they have here at Woodbury? Who would let terrorists invade the town – destroy everything they worked so hard to achieve?

A muffled whimper came from underneath the hood.

"Everyone," the Governor boomed out, tearing off the hood, "I present to you, Jazmine Fenton!"

Jack felt himself freeze in shock, too overwhelmed to move or even think.

The crowd grew angry in a flurry of sound, fists shaking and spittle running down their faces as they screamed at her – a shoe clashed with her cheek, sending her tumbling to her knees.

"Now what should we do with them, huh?" the Governor called out jovially, as if he was an announcer at a county fair.

"Kill 'em!" came the immediate response. From the young to the old they raised their fists in anger, circling the three of them, chanting and sneering down at them.

"Jazz!" Jack pulled himself out of his shock and rushed forward, only for Farrow and Carson to snatch him by the shoulders. A knee to the gut had him crashing to the dirt and gasping for air. He twisted and turned as they snapped his arms behind his back, hollering " _Let her go!_ " before he was quietened by a handgun being shoved up against his temple.

"Control that buffoon," the Governor simply said, "Before he ends up getting his daughter hanged with the rest of 'em."

"No! Jazzy! Jazzy, no! You gotta have it wrong! Let her go – that's my little girl! _Jazz!"_

A rag was stuffed into his mouth, making him fight harder against Farrow who forced his arms into a deadlock. Jazz stared at him though watery eyes, looking as if she was about to faint. The jeering and boos didn't stop as the crowd edged further in, seeming like they wanted to tear her and the Dixon brothers to shreds. "Dad," she whimpered in a broken voice, staring at him from where he was pinned to the dirt. A large shotgun was trained on her at point blank, as if daring her to even think of running.

"Let me go, _lemme go!_ " called a blonde woman – Andrea – shoving her way toward the Governor, "Let them go," she demanded, "Phillip!"

But just as quickly she was snatched up by one of the Governor's men, a gun trained on her abdomen.

"Stay out of this," was the order by another one of his lackeys.

"They're my friends!" Jack heard her explain.

"Not up to me anymore. The people have spoken," the Governor announced.

"What?" Andrea cried, shocked. The men holding her captive dragged her back from the arena grounds, planting her on the sidelines beside Jack, she stared down at him with pity and confusion.

"No, please!" Jazz wailed, tears streaming down her face, "I haven't done anything wrong! I didn't want any of this!"

But the Governor didn't look at her, only turned his head to listen to the crowd with glee. He strode forward and settled himself down on his haunches, running the metal of the gun down her cheek, following the wet trail of tears that tracked down her face, before using the tip to lift her chin up toward him, "Liar."

Jack watched horrified as the Governor fingered the trigger – one slip and Jazz would be gone. Forever.

But in a twist of his heel, the Governor stood and tucked the gun back in its holster, turning away from Jazz who released a series of catching hiccoughs, "Now, I know what you're all thinking," he boldly proclaimed, "the girl needs to be punished for her atrocities against our great town. But you have to remember who the real devious minds are – these two men banded together to manipulate this poor, grieving child – they gave her false hope – used her weak, pathetic heart against her."

The Governor turned to Merle, "I asked you where your loyalties lie. You said here – well, prove it. Prove it to us all. Brother against brother. Winner goes free," he strode forward confidently, circling the brothers, "Fight! To the _death!_ "

He waited for the audience to calm down from their roars before he smirked, "And hey, if you're smart enough, you'll figure out how to keep the girl alive too."

Jack begged through the gag as Jazz burst into heavy, shoulder-wracking sobs, unable to hold her head up as the crowd cheered in excitement.

"Phillip please, don't do this! Don't do this!" Andrea called from next to him. Jack wheezed at her, begging her to help his daughter from behind the cloth, but she wasn't focused on him. The brother was set loose from his binds, but Jazz was left on the dirt with her arms cinched behind her back. Cheers were calling out through the crowd for Merle – he had always been the crowd favourite; knew how to put on a show. It was only last week that Jack had been one of them, hooting and hollering from the stands as he took on three biters with nothing but his bladed fist.

He watched Merle raise his single fist in the air triumphantly, "Y'all know me! I'm gonna do whatever I gotta do t _o prove—"_

Merle swung his fist into his brother's cheek, sending him tumbling to the ground in a pained heap, _"—that my loyalty—"_ a kick to the ribs, " _—is to this town!_ "

Jazz let out a shriek from where she lay on the floor, Merle's brother nearly knocking into her – but she wasn't paying attention to the fight. Jack twisted his head as far as he could from where he was pinned, watching as four biters were led into the arena by catchpoles.

Merle and his brother grappled for another round, Jazz trapped between them, as the biters circled them, their flesh of their necks tearing free of the poles. Jack watched horrified as his daughter was clipped by a wayward elbow to the cheekbone, sending her tumbling toward a walker, who scrabbled furiously for her – making her shriek as she kicked at it wildly, trying to escape from its reach while the brothers grappled at each other wildly.

Jack screamed and yelled from behind the gag, his vision becoming blurry behind the rush of tears that flooded his eyes as he doubled his efforts to get away from the Governor's men.

A skinless hand narrowly missed her ankle when Merle's brother reached out, snatching Jazz by the back of her shirt and hauling her out of reach of the biters and into the centre. The brothers quickly got to their feet and turned their backs on each other, fists raised as the biters were edged further in. Jack watched amazed as they let loose a series of haymakers on the biters, sending them tumbling from their keeper's control and into the crowd. People screamed as the biters lost focus and began to snatch at the closest living creature.

Then there were gunshots. Chaos broke out. Biters and guards were taken down one by one, and there was a sudden rush of white smoke that filled the arena. Jack shoved the Governor's men off him and yanked the cloth from his mouth, sending a sharp punch to Farrow's jaw before diving for Jazz, trapped on her knees with her hands still bound in the centre of it all.

"Dad!" she shrieked when she saw him, but Jack didn't have time to comfort her as he dodged a walker. He hefted her into his arms and ran, ignoring the shrieks and the bullets and the biters, heading for the main street.

"The Humvee!" Jazz said breathlessly, nodding her head at the camouflage hard-top. Jack barrelled forward with his impressive girth, yanking open the door and tossing Jazz into the passenger seat he reached for the ignition, finding the keys missing. Without a second thought, he ducked below the dashboard, yanking wires free, sparking them together. He was an inventor that developed the first steps to inter-dimensional travel, surely he could figure out how to hotwire a car.

He nearly gave a triumphant yell when the car roared to life, but Jazz was focused on other things.

"The gate is locked!" Jazz gasped, twisting to look through the back window, arms still bound behind her back. Jack could see shadows making their way toward them in the rear view. He made a choice fast.

"We have to crash through!"

" _What?_ " Jazz squeaked, "Dad, no! Can't we just—"

But Jack ignored her – only focusing on getting his daughter away from this terrible place. He reversed the car out nearly fifty yards and called to Jazz, "Hold on tight!"

The Carrier Humvee's engine nearly snarled as Jack shoved his foot on the accelerator, the car quickly picking up to sixty and smashed through the corrugated steel and reinforced wood, blasting the door wide open. Debris shattered over their heads in a resounding _crash_ , metal scraping on metal in a piercing whine and the left side of the car barraged its way through a reinforcement beam, making Jazz scream as the Humvee bounced on it axis, threatening to tip them. Both the side mirrors were wrenched off by the impact. He needed to get Jazz somewhere safe. Somewhere far, far away from Woodbury and everything it stood for.

The two of them disappeared into the dark with just the glow of their taillights.

…

It was a few miles out from the camp when Jack stopped the car, looking pale and sweaty. Turning the engine off, they sat in the pitch-black, only the moon providing any light in the night time air. Jazz didn't know whether she wanted to scream, throw up or tuck herself into a corner and cry. Her head span as anxiousness overwhelmed her. The desperate need for fresh air pounded through her brain as her lungs struggled to collect air from her short, choppy breaths.

Her whole body shook as the adrenaline took over. Hands still bound behind her back, Jazz twisted in her seat and thrust a foot angrily at the Humvee's door, ignoring the tingling pain that shot up her leg. She kicked it over and over, not hearing her father's concerned calls, the metal banging loudly in the dark until it finally gave way beneath her foot, ricocheting on its hinges. Without checking, Jazz tossed herself out of the car, tripping to land in a heap onto the cool earth.

"Jazz!" Jack hissed, wrenching his own door open and jumping out after her, "What are you doing? Get back in the car, we need to stay safe!"

"Safe?" Jazz gave a high-pitched laugh that was anything but genuine, " _Where_ is _safe_ , dad? Back at Woodbury? Where they tried to _kill_ meand make you watch like it was some sort of _game?_ " She was breathing hard as she hauled herself clumsily to her knees, ignoring the way the dirt was streaked across her face from her tears.

She knew she was being spiteful – she could see it in her dad's face, but she couldn't stop herself; after being so powerless and so scared she just wanted to lash out and take control again.

"Jazz…" Jack whimpered.

But Jazz wasn't done, "For over a year now we've been cooped up behind those walls, sipping on ice teas, watching the most messed up wrestling matches and pretending that everything is fine when it's _not!_ Stuck in that place… how were we even close to finding mum and Danny?"

"The Governor promised that he would help us—"

"Help? _Help?_ " Jazz let out a wrenching sob as the adrenaline began to seep away, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake, "He just tried to play off a public execution as a Sunday night movie, dad. He was never going to help us!"

She burst into tears then, thinking of the photo of Danny and the way the Governor had threatened and manipulated her in his office with the promise that her little brother may be still alive. They couldn't go back – but they had no food, not water, no leads and nowhere else to go.

Jack walked up behind her, gently resting a comforting hand on her shoulder before sweeping her into an enormous bear-hug. She could hear the shuddering of his breath by her ear as he struggled to keep himself in control. She understood what he felt, being betrayed by a man he had invested so much of his hope and expectations in, that maybe – just maybe – they would find their family again.

In a ragged slice that nearly clipped Jazz's palm, hands slid free of their bonds and Jack's pocket knife tumbled to the dirt. Jazz immediately lifted her aching arms to grasp onto her father and they fell into silent sobs, both just as lost and confused as the other.

It was the low groaning that alerted them that they weren't alone.

"Quick," Jack whispered, voice still thick with emotion, "Back to the car!"

The two dashed for the Humvee, sweeping themselves inside and slamming the doors shut just as a walker crashed into the window, making Jazz shriek, it's snarling face barely visible in the dark. More groans echoed through the night and the two quickly found the car surrounded as biters began to clamber around the car, arms outstretched and grasping hungrily.

" _Dad?_ " Jazz begged desperately.

Jack ducked beneath the steering wheel, and Jazz heard the clicking of electricity before the car flared to life, the high-beams flickering on to reveal the road was flooded with biters. Jack didn't hesitate, throwing the car into reverse and flying backwards. Jazz flung her hands out to catch herself, smacking her palms against the glove-box to stop herself from careening through the windscreen. The glovebox popped open to reveal a handful of protein bars and a box of cigarettes.

Jack let out a warning, "Seatbelt!"

Jazz clipped the strap around her just as Jack wrenched the hand-break at full speed and heaved the steering wheel. The dark world became a blur as the car spun in its axis, before coming to a sudden halt facing the opposite direction, biters trundling behind them.

"Go! Go! Go!' She yelled.

Jack yanked off the hand-break and they flew down the road back the way they came. Biters clipped the car as they leapt for them, tumbling to the earth in their wake. Jazz grasped the edge of her seat, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds.

They drove on in silence, shoulders tense even as they sun began to rise over the horizon and Jack switched the head-lights off. The road was emblazoned in red and gold, making Jazz squint and tug down the sun visor to block the harsh rays.

She paused. There, strapped to the visor, was a map. Red ink was scribbled across it with arrows pointing to a location labelled the State Penitentiary – Andrea had mentioned something about a prison. _About Danny._

There was a sign coming up. Unfurling the map, she ordered Jack, "Take the next left!"

"What?"

"Go left! There's a prison not far from here – Andrea's old friends are there! And maybe…" reaching into her pocket she pulled out the crumpled, worn photo and held it up for her dad to see.

"Danny?" Jack whimpered. The car slowed to a stop as Jack gingerly reached out for the polaroid, smoothing it out on his knee with hesitant sweeps, as if he might wipe away the ink. Danny's frown looked much deeper with how creased and worn the photo was, but it was undeniably him.

Jack grasped the photograph to his chest and let out a quivering breath. A look of determination spread across his face and he grasped the steering wheel again, stomping his foot on the accelerator.

They took the next left.

…

The Humvee drove them nearly half a mile out from the prison before it died. Jack groaned as the gas light flickered once before fading.

"There wouldn't happen to be a spare gas canister in the back, eh, Jazzy-pants?"

Unclipping her seatbelt, Jazz tumbled through the car to the trunk, searching through empty bottles and rags for anything useful.

Sitting back on her haunches, she muttered, "Nope, just a tool box and, oh! Here, this might fit."

She tossed him a military-grade camouflage jacket. Jack eyed it before giving a firm nod and slipped it on. The material was tough and durable, and fit his ginormous frame with ease. Jazz tugged on her own jacket, her arms swimming in the sleeves, but she was protected from the morning chill that was starting to seep into the car.

"Grab the toolbox," Jack ordered as he pocketed the map and protein bars.

Jazz hauled the box into the passenger seat and popped the safety locks, pulling the lid open. Seated right on top of a miniature hack-saw was a large serrated knife the length of her forearm and a pistol.

Jack reached for the gun with a grin, but was too slow. Jazz snatched it from his grasp, "Nu-uh!" she stated firmly, "Who's the better shot?"

Jack gave her a disgruntled look before muttering, "You are."

"That's what I thought," she said smugly. "You can have the knife."

The two stepped out of the car onto the road. They were surrounded by tall, barren pine trees. There was a sign up ahead that had been spray-painted over, the words no longer legible but Jazz could assume they were once directions.

Jack pulled the map from his pocket and pointed, "If we cut through the woods we could reach the gate in under ten minutes."

Jazz frowned, "Should we risk it? What if we come across more biters?"

"Were just as exposed out here as anywhere else," Jack said in a tone unlike himself.

Hesitantly, Jazz nodded and they made way for the trees.

It was a terrifying ten minutes before they reached the stretch of field that surrounded the prison like a wasteland. A handful of biters skulked around the chain fence perimeter, staring hungrily at two figures in the courtyard secured within a secondary internal security fence. A man stood on security scaffolding, binoculars in hand as he scoured the grounds while a woman wandered the yard, rummaging through a prison bus that had been upheaved onto its side, head bent low.

"Wait, I know her…" Jazz told her dad excitedly, " _Michonne—!_ "

The binoculars swept toward them.

"Get down!" Jack hissed, yanking Jazz down into the overgrown lawn. With a muffled scream, she dropped to the dirt hissing as her elbow scraped a loose stone. She waited with baited breath, staring wide-eyed at her father who watched through the tall reeds growing from a nearby embankment.

There was a clank of metal and wire before footsteps rushed toward them, thudding heavily against the soft earth. Jazz whimpered, covering her mouth with her palm and slamming her eyes shut. She felt her dad wrap his arms around her protectively, shuffling further back toward the cover of the woods.

But the footsteps halted nearly a dozen yards away from them. Hesitantly, Jazz peeked her eyes open; gliding across the narrow wooden bridge that covered the embankment was Rick, the man who had invaded Woodbury. He stood in the centre of the bridge, staring wistfully at the woods, before he slowly lifted a hand, cupping the air to something unseen by Jazz or Jack.

Jack tugged on her jacket, "C'mon," he muttered carefully, watching Rick with wary eyes she wasn't used to seeing.

" _No!_ " Jazz hissed back, "We can't leave! _Danny_ could be in there!"

"I'm not risking you getting hurt—!"

"And I'm not losing the one lead we have at finding my little brother!"

The resounding _click_ of a safety echoed through the field. Jazz and Jack froze, both turning to find Rick standing over them, a shiny silver gun aimed at their heads.

"How did you find us?"

…

"In," Rick ordered, jabbing toward the armoured door with his handgun.

Jazz swallowed thickly before she marched into the prison, her dad close on her heels. The inside of the prison was frigid compared to outside, the large concrete walls protecting them from the heat and humidity. She was met with a narrow, undecorated corridor before Rick urged them forward, an obvious look of suspicion glued to his face. He led them through a pair of doors and down a platform into a sparsely decorated room with locker cabinets and large round tables bolted to the floor. It was far from the comfort Woodbury had provided.

'Rick?" called a soft voice, crinkled with age, "What's going on?"

An elderly man hobbled his way into the room on a pair of crutches, an empty trouser-leg trailing behind him, along with a girl around Jazz's age carrying a newborn in her arms. A woman with short-cropped hair and a man with a peculiar moustache followed shortly after.

"Sit," Rick ordered, motioning to the picnic tables. They sat.

Rick took a seat across from them, staring intently. The vague and wistful look they had seen cross his face by the trench had long disappeared. Jazz could feel sweat building up at the base of her skull that had nothing to do with the Georgia heat.

A barred door on the far side of the room was flung open then, and a boy wandered through carting behind Maggie and Glenn whose bruises looked even worse in the daylight.

"Who's this?" the boy asked excitedly, rushing forward. He came to a sudden halt when he reached the side of the old man, gaping at them in shock. Jazz looked at him – he seemed to recognise her, but she knew for a fact she had never seen him in her life.

"Not now, Carl," Rick bit out, looking furious, "Who are you and how did you find us?"

"Whoa, don't you recognise her, Rick?" called Glenn, "That's the girl that helped us get out of Woodbury!"

Rick looked at her with fresh eyes before turning to Jack, "And you?"

Her dad proudly jutted a thumb at himself, "The name's Jack Fenton. Jazzy-pants here my daughter and we—"

"How did you find us? What are you doing here?" Rick interrupted.

"Er…" Jack mumbled, uncertainty flickering over his features. He shared a quick look with Jazz who took a deep breath.

"Back in Woodbury I met a woman – Andrea," she began. The mismatched group were staring at her with their full attention, except Carl, who couldn't seem to maintain eye contact, "She told me that she used to be part of your group, and there were rumours about a prison nearby…"

Solemnly, she untucked the polaroid she had hidden in her pocket, holding it tightly in her grip, "She said she knew my brother—"

"He's not here!" Carl blurted out.

Desperation hitched in her throat, "W-what?"

"What are you talking about, son?" asked the man on crutches.

Carl strode evenly toward Jazz and Jack, stopping beside Rick who was staring at him with glazed eyes, as if he wasn't all there. He tugged a folded scrap of paper from his back pocket and unfurled it with shaking hands to show them.

"I… I took this from him right before the farm was overrun. I was really mad at him, and I knew he'd be angry if he found it missing. I meant to give it back, but…"

It was a photograph, one she instantly recognised; the last their family had taken, just a few months before the outbreak. Her mum and dad were standing proudly behind her and Danny, all grinning happily and carefree. A sob escaped her throat at the sight of her mum and her brother in all their worn glory and she carefully held up the polaroid of a scowling Danny next to his smiling face.

A muffled gasp escaped the woman with the short-cropped hair, and with a terrified glance at Jazz and Jack, she fled the room.

"Carol!" called the blonde with the baby, racing after her.

The others didn't move, staring down at the photographs of Danny with varying expressions of sadness and horror. Maggie broke the silence first, slipping into the seat next to her to lay a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry."

Jack burst into tears.

...

I really enjoy writing Jazz — she brings a sense of rfeality to the story that the other characters can't with their hardened attitudes. It's interesting and refreshing. The story really begins to diverge more from here-on out too. Please leave a comment if you are enjoying this story.


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